


Rooted in Dreams

by cloudnoir



Series: Missed Directions [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis | René d'Herblay Whump, Athos | Comte de la Fère Whump, Gen, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay, Hurt Athos | Comte de la Fère, Hurt/Comfort, Porthos' infinite patience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudnoir/pseuds/cloudnoir
Summary: Porthos mentioned more than once about that time Aramis nearly killed Athos and drowned himself. So while Aramis and Athos recover it's a perfect time to recount another tale of the Inseprables' heroics to d'Artagnan.Side-story to "Four Points of the Compass," but can be read as a standalone.
Series: Missed Directions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087379
Comments: 44
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

⚜⚜⚜⚜

_“All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.”_

– Plutarch

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Is he sleeping?” D’Artagnan craned over Athos’ legs to try for a better view.

Athos had reclined in a half-seated position, after their impromptu meal and morning needs, intending to doze a bit himself. “It would seem; his eyes are closed.”

“Feels like it,” Porthos smirked at him, “he just got a bit heavier.”

“And that was hard won.” Athos drained the last of his cup and contemplated retrieving alcohol whilst Aramis was unable to either challenge the request or demand for himself. 

With Athos now injured, d’Artagnan had left nearly all adjustment, tending, and the wrangling of their recovered brother to Porthos. It seemed collecting and leaving the chamber pot outside their door for Boucher, Bourdin or Gilles – a punishment Porthos assigned, but they all knew would be overlooked even if it was reported to either captain – to attend was less awkward than attempting to predict how best to care for Aramis currently.

“Let’s hope he stays asleep.” Athos rolled his shoulders into the supportive grasp of the down pillows. He made a surreptitious attempt at inspecting his wound and found it tender, but there was no bleed through on his shirt. He debated unbinding the bandages loosely secured to his waist, but with the physicians coming to tend Aramis he’d just as soon wait on their arrival.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a good grip, I won’t let him near you.” Porthos winked down with a small smile.

“I believe there’s no danger this time. He is of,” Athos allowed his usual dry delivery to pace his words, “mostly, sound mind.”

“Still feels warm.” Porthos slid his fingers along the open collar of the shirt in gentle movements so as not to wake Aramis.

“Corbeau assured us that any ill effects from that infernal root should be minimal.” Athos considered the sleeping man unwilling to speculate his condition past the resolving of the drugs Corneul used. 

“No real assuring anything where that’s concerned,” Porthos shrugged, keeping the movement tiny so as not to disturb Aramis’ rest. “He seemed aware enough for now.” 

“And Corbeau is sure he knows everything they gave him?” D’Artagnan leaned back to sit against the bed’s post.

“It is not the first time Corneul had Corbeau provide such service; the physician claims supplying numerous concoctions for both interrogation and healing to the man.” Athos had been satisfied as to the doctor’s earnest healing efforts, he would not hold him responsible for Corneul’s actions and he trusted Fournier’s assessment of the physician’s involvement. 

“He’s explained to you about valerian?” Porthos didn’t look at d’Artagnan – leaning his own head back for a quick rest of his eyes – but the all knew which of them he meant to address.

“He did.” D’Artagnan focused his perplexed view on Athos whose eyes had opened on hearing the tone of his response. “He did, I just didn’t think, I thought he was exaggerating.”

“As did I, regrettably.” Athos regarded the younger man before huffing out a put-upon sigh at Porthos’ silence. “As he is so often prone to embellishment, I thought he was overstating his sensitivity.”

Porthos cleared his throat and Athos imagined he’d have been physically chastened by the man if he’d not already had both hands occupied guarding Aramis’ repose.

“I incorrectly” Athos glanced up at Porthos is appeasement, “determined they would be aftereffects and no more unpleasant than those of an evening of overindulgence or poor sleep.

“Poor sleep is one way of putting it.” Porthos shook his head, “These two fools owe me their lives for that mess.”

“Porthos, I owe you my life several times over just as that fool there does.” Athos assured the grumbling man, knowing his words would disarm any minor annoyance at the memory of events as they transpired. He also knew any long-term aggravation Porthos nursed was due more in his fear at the damage they caused each other and their near loss than any harbored anger directly at them. “In that instance I had not had the benefit of your first-hand experience with him or the consequences.”

“Well he had warned you.”

“He had.”

“And you two were at each other that whole mission.”

At Athos’ silence Porthos raised the brow that was closer to the prone man.

“We were.” Athos conceded.

“And if you hadn’t nearly killed each other I’d have tossed you both in the river myself.”

At this Athos gave up marginally placating his friend and settled for the familiar shield of sarcasm. “Yes, well had you chosen to do so before the attack then perhaps we might not have met with the results that we did.”

Porthos decidedly would have struck him, or at least grabbed at him, had Aramis not - ironically - been preventing the movement. 

“You have a point,” Athos continued, “we would have been best served with your intervention after the attack.”

D'Artagnan intervened this time, preventing any retaliation - verbal or physical - Porthos might have given in response. 

“Would one of you please just explain what happened?” D’Artagnan had tucked his knees up and rested his chin on the arm he’d placed over them. He was poised to duck into his forearm to hide the grin the flash in his eyes was foreshadowing.

“I would, d’Artagnan, but I fear that even were I to recount it to you as a further act of contrition then Porthos would only feel the need to impede it with endless addendums.” Athos' sardonic tone was familiar enough with its underwritten guilt that it took the sting out of his words to Porthos' ears.

“Because neither of you ever tell it right.” Porthos asserted, fond exasperation giving way like a cloud rushing past the sun, with face and voice that demonstrated complete sincerity.

“And our penance for that and the event itself is without end it seems.”

Porthos laughed heartily and then nearly coughed as he abruptly stopped in fear that he’d wake his charge. “No less than either of you deserve.”

Porthos rolled his neck and assured himself that Aramis remained unaware of the world. “I guess that’s me telling it to him, is it?”

Athos gave no response except to wave his left hand closer to Porthos in a gesture of acceptance. He returned his hand to join the other resting on his abdomen as he waited for Porthos to tell the story: he was fully prepared to add his own amendments, as needed.

“There’s no fancy title for this one, d’Artagnan, but I promise you it’s me that’s the hero of this tale.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just agree we will see where this goes? Sadly no beta so all errors mistakes etc. are mine (blanket warning for all chapters). Hope you enjoy!

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Porthos raised both eyebrows and his offer dripped slowly over his tongue infused with all the sweetness of honey, “You sure you don’t want to yield?”

Aramis panted yet, though it was shallow, Porthos tracked the tiny motion under the billowing linen. He’d worn a deeper colored fabric today and it darkened in broad swaths despite the cool morning air. Aramis didn’t respond: he thrust forward only to draw back quickly when it too was evaded like his many of his previous strikes.

“Do you tire of this already my friend?” Aramis followed with a flourish that didn’t connect and a swipe of his parrying dagger that also went unmet.

“Not a chance,” Porthos rocked his weight back to his heels, “just thinking of you.”

“Perhaps you ought to heed him, Aramis.” Athos offered with no discernable tone.

Aramis read many meanings and intentions in those few words and that was enough time for the two opposing blades to slide across each other. Rather than attempt to evade his opponent Aramis pushed back despite lacking the advantage.

Porthos shook his head.

Athos knocked the blade aside and had his main-gauche tipped to Aramis’ neck near simultaneously.

Aramis guided it away from his vulnerable skin with two gloved fingers, before inviting, “Again?”

Athos held both of his blades at his sides, angled upward but away from Aramis, and it was clear to both his friends he was weighing the merit of another in what had turned to a series of bouts this morning.

“Perhaps we should give Porthos a turn?”

The man in question backed further to the long table where several apples were waiting. “Oh no, you leave me out of this.” To back his insistence, he sunk his teeth into the fruit and settled next to the small pile on the sun warmed wood.

Aramis’ irregular breaths gave way to a rush of air as he attempted to laugh. “Once more, Athos, and then we shall take a break and raid the spoils Porthos won from the pantry.”

Athos glanced at the uneven mound of fruits; Porthos could see he was unimpressed. “Better make it quick, I’m liable to finish ‘em otherwise.” The metal clinked before Porthos could take his next bite, but he suspected that was more due to Aramis’ feverish enthusiasm this morning than a desire to share his apples. They were done before Porthos had exposed the core.

“I still see no counter to that feint!” Aramis sounded good-natured in his exclamation, but both of his friends could hear the frustration seeping through.

“Maybe it’s best we’re taking a break, then.” Athos extended his arm, indicating with his dagger to where Porthos sat.

Aramis slouched past, setting his weapons down and dropping heavily to the bench Porthos’ boots were occupying. “Only for a few moments,” he rested his head on one hand and groped for an apple with the other.

Porthos and Athos smirked at each other before Athos turned to pour himself a drink, his own breathing quickened from the consecutive matches. After a long draught from the cup Athos took a breath to propose a respite but before he could their attention was redirected to the walkway overhead.

“I have an assignment for you, come up.” Treville didn’t bother to wait for so much as a nod before turning back inside.

“So much for that break,” Porthos moved off the table.

Aramis inclined his head at the apple he’d only just gotten hold of and forced a long breath out. He debated taking it along upstairs but settled for abandoning it when Athos pushed the remaind er of his cup at him.

“Come, you can have it after,” Athos called over his shoulder as he started up the stairs.

“Fine,” Aramis arced his hand in a dramatic sweep at the retreating back, “but this changes nothing about our continuance, Athos.”

The only sound that returned was the tread of boots on the stairs.

“Athos?” Aramis began to lower his arm, but it was caught at the wrist and he found himself slightly dizzy as Pothos levered him to his feet.

“C’mon,” Porthos pushed the slighter man in front and herded him up, “maybe you’ll get to try that lunge on someone else.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“So” Aramis lyrically drew out the word before clarifying, “we’re to be sent as tax collectors?”

“No. You’re musketeers and you’ll be acting in the King’s interests.” Treville cocked his brow in irritation at the question as much as the need for his men to have to retrieve the debt. However, he had put forth his own men for the assignment in direct response to how vehemently Richelieu had wished to send his soldiers and that meant volunteering his own regiment to the task. “And you will be investigating as such, see what you can ascertain about the baron. His entreaties to His Majesty have all professed innocence.”

“Still a derogation of his nobility?” Athos asked in a voice that carried its usual inflection of boredom, but there was an undercurrent that carried through like the whistle of a wind that convinced you it was colder than the actual temperature. Porthos and Aramis’ eyes flicked to meet in a rapid exchange, but for all they could pick up the disquiet in their friend they were at a loss to decipher its root cause.

“It is unchanged. His Majesty was furious when it was confirmed Baron Desmarais has been engaging in trade. I suspect he was more embarrassed finding out from his council than the actual commerce. The Cardinal was the one who advocated for this option over a full rescinding of nobility despite there being rumors the trade was smuggled.” 

Porthos huffed and crossed his arms, “We still have to call him “Baron” then?”

“Yes. He remains a baron but his privileges are revoked so he is no longer exempted from taxation.” Treville sat back in his chair considering the three of them.

“And because he hasn’t paid, we’re being sent,” Porthos tucked his hands in his belt and glanced over at Aramis already considering their verbal repertoire to make the request, “to persuade him.”

Treville inclined his head, “To retrieve the funds owed, at my recommendation, yes. Let us hope the arrival of the King’s own men on his lands is enough persuasion.”

“Your recommendation?” Again, there was a tightness to Athos’ voice that Treville was now noting.

“Richelieu has now been discussing a reinstatement based on his investigations. I’ve been contending with the man and his machinations for years,” the crinkling of parchment was overloud under Treville’s fist; he seemed lost to his own thoughts as though maneuvering them into order. “I cannot fathom his interest in a minor noble.”

“Eager to cater to that which holds the King’s interest?” Aramis offered.

Treville stroked his beard in thought, then scratched at his chin in frustration. “Always. Except that he was adamant that it be his own men that were sent to collect the taxes.”

“You suspect more to this than his usual political scheming” Athos stated and stood waiting for Treville to settle his considering of the situation.

“He’s keenly interested, it was only his over interest that swayed His Highness to my offering the regiment. Your recent successes in Chelles and Melun were enough to tilt him in favor to my proposal.”

Porthos and Aramis smirked in pleasure on either side of Athos; he ignored their preening but allowed a small bend to his lip as he chose to focus on Treville.

“You have an objection?” Treville slid his eyes to the men on either side of Athos, but neither man provided clarity to the question he posed to the central figure.

“Merely that I don’t see the Musketeer’s role in minor shifts in nobility.”

Once more Aramis met Porthos’ eyes, but his thoughts were indecipherable beyond piqued interest and his mouth pulled into a frown. He looked Athos over and shifted his gaze up and down before turning to their captain. “And how long do we have for this venture?”

“Your mission.” Treville kept his own eyes on Athos, but his concern for the man was at once more blatant and knowing before it was gone from his face entirely. He turned to Aramis, “Your primary objective is the delivery of the funds, gather what you can regarding his suspected trade. At minimum four days, and if you’re going to need longer than a week you’ll send word with one of you returning to report.” As he spoke he looked at each of his soldiers. “You’re dismissed. Leave today, within the hour if possible.”

“Guess we’re skipping lunch.” Porthos’ joke fell flat to both Treville and Athos, neither man even raised a brow as Treville kept is gaze on Athos and he only nodded in return. Fortunately, Aramis aided him in dispersing the strange atmosphere. 

“Well let’s rehearse your persuasive powers on Serge, yes?” Aramis settled his fingertips along Athos’ pauldron in a bid to entice him from his mood and Treville’s office. He only frowned a fraction when Athos shrugged him off and nodded succinctly to their commanding officer.

“Right, let’s.” Porthos just shrugged but nodded before turning to lead their exit. “Captain.” 

“Godspeed gentlemen, keep in mind the awareness at the palace of this assignment.”

“Captain.” Athos’ voice was subdued, but his nod sharp. He turned quickly and with haste managed to stride past Porthos to exit first. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜


	3. Chapter 3

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Wait, why were you upset?” D’Artagnan cocked his head in a manner that left his hair flopping over his arms where they rested on his knees.

Athos was slow to glance over at him, he’d had his eyes closed while listening to Porthos’ rumbling narrative. “I was not exactly upset.”

“Hmmm, moody more like.” Porthos titled his head toward Athos with a grin and allowed him his answer. “At least at that point. We’ll get to it.”

He considered their sleeping companion while adjusting the bed linens and eyeing the bits of visible skin. Aramis’ breathing was deep and even, so it was tempting to peek under the re-bandaging around his neck. Porthos considered what they could attend themselves before the doctors arrived and without waking Aramis. He was interrupted from diagnosing by movement to his right and gave half a glance to Athos who had started to slide from the bed. Fortunately, d’Artagnan called out before he had to speak.

“What do you need?” D’Artagnan unfolded himself and jumped off the mattress before Athos had gotten to his feet. He was as tired as they all were, but somehow retained a spring and energy to his movements, likely bolstered by virtue of being younger as well as his eagerness to help them all. 

Athos curled his right hand over his bandaged side as he laid his feet flat to the rug. His side felt like it had been scalded with hot water, but he refused to lay about all day. “To dress.”

“Still too early,” Porthos intervened as he watched d’Artagnan’s face waver from argumentative to concession and back, “and besides you’re not going anywhere. You’re confined to bed.”

Athos turn to glare at Porthos over his left arm, it arched like a tree root from where he’d lain his left palm on his thigh attempting to brace himself to rise. “Treville hardly meant for me to stay abed. I need to start on that code.”

“You don’t need to be outta bed or dressed for that; you need Aramis awake too.” Porthos argued. “Anything else?”

Athos turned around and eyed the remnants on the long table across the room.

“You better be eyeing another pitcher of water because I know you wouldn’t be considering wine at this hour. And if you are it’s just another sign you need to get back under the covers.”

Athos’ shoulders rose, but he didn’t turn.

This time it was d’Artagnan who intervened and moved to grab the last full pitcher of water from the table and strode back to place it on the nightstand. Athos had still not risen. D’Artagnan didn’t call attention to the paused movement, he poured two cups and offered one to Athos who remained suspended between rising from the bed and potentially laying back down. Rather than helping Athos move in either direction d’Artagnan made to settle at the end of the bed again.

“As long as we’re taking a break, leave him to it and grab that salve.” Porthos nodded d’Artagnan away from the end of the bed and towards the assorted items on his side of the bed. 

“Oh,” d’Artagnan gazed over the occupants of the bed, “but Athos’ wound is bandaged, we should wait for it to be checked.”

“Not Athos, Aramis.” Porthos said. Expecting that clarification to spur d’Artagnan to motion, he turned to address Athos’ back. “Just get back in bed, we’ve got a story to finish. You can dress later. No sense putting layers on now when you’d just have to remove them all.”

“Aramis?” D’Artagnan hadn’t moved and Porthos nearly growled at him.

“Yeah. Aramis.” 

“Shouldn’t you do that or one of the others?”

It might have been the tone of d’Artagnan’s voice, or just the distraction from everyone’s attention on him, but Porthos doubted that Athos silently resettling himself next to him had anything to do with his request.

“Got my hands full here.” Porthos chose to barrel over whatever was causing d’Artagnan’s hesitance. “Just work it into his feet and calves, and Corbeau can look over the rest later.”

“Won’t it wake him?”

Porthos’ amusement overtook his mild frustration. “Nah. After all that excitement? Think he’s worn himself out.”

Nobody bothered to voice that the nightmare Aramis had woken them all with accounted for merely a fraction of that sleeping body’s exhaustion.

“Doubt he’ll feel it,” Porthos rubbed his thumb along the exposed clavicle on Aramis’ upturned side. The motion itself was born of the normal thoughtless contact they engaged in, but unconsciously served to prove his point: Aramis did not stir. “And you’re sitting down there anyway, may as well make use of that while I tell you the rest.”

D’Artagnan bit his lip, but whether it was against a reply or a pause to formulate one was not clear.

“All right, what is it? You weren’t squeamish about running the chamber pot out to the hall this morning. Unless you were just eager for a bit of revenge on those soldiers, maybe? You already said you’re gonna give Corbeau the ingredients for your mom’s salve.” Porthos was gentle but, just as a glove could be soft over a formed fist, there was a bit of force behind the words. “And it ain’t the wounds, we’ve all seen them already. He’s already out so he won’t squirm away like last night.”

Porthos expected a reply, but his last statement pulled him into the memory unexpectedly. He was taken under by the irrational guilt that came with having to hurt a friend to help heal them, he didn’t envy Aramis regularly being the one to stitch them up.

“You haven’t touched him.”

Porthos swung his gaze to Athos with a deep frown. D’Artagnan said nothing, but he also did not move from where he stood at the end post on Athos’ side of the bed.

D’Artagnan who would often defend his behavior with the flash of gunpowder sparked said nothing. He did not look at Athos or Porthos. He didn’t gaze up from where he’d been staring at the end of the bed. He didn’t deny it.

“You haven’t since we’ve found him.” Athos’ voice was not accusatory, just the distracted uttering of remembrance. “Even then, you only handled the ropes.”

Porthos looked back over at d’Artagnan but let his eyes drift as he started to pick over the events since finding Aramis barely alive. It was easy enough to remain unobserved, but now that Athos had noted it Porthos could see that all the assistance d’Artagnan eagerly provided did not involve direct contact.

When they found Aramis d’Artagnan had unbound the ropes on his feet and stood ready to assist but hesitated at laying hands on him. He had fetched supplies, held light closer, drifted in and out of the cabin for water, and many other necessary aids, but he had not touched Aramis. He’d thrown himself into assisting in every means possible, but the closest he came to physical interaction was handing Aramis something. In every instance nothing seemed off, all of them were working together towards the common goal of not losing their brother immediately after getting him back. Now though, rummaging through the fractured moments without the frantic need or urgency, it assembled into enough to wonder at why.

Athos meanwhile turned over their various brushes with injury and life altering circumstance. Aside from deliberate risks – such as deliberately throwing oneself on a bomb – that were self-instigated they were often able to alter events and minimize exposure to injury. Danger was inherent in soldiering: halting a firing squad, intervening in a brawl, getting Porthos to a place to operate, dragging Athos from death by burning. Nearly every time they were in life threatening conditions d’Artagnan was able to influence the outcome.

Once more Athos’ tone held no accusation, the words carried no judgement. “You are worried this will prove fatal?” 

“You aren’t?” D’Artagnan contested. His hands were tucked into his underarms since he’d crossed his arms over his chest. The posturing was hardly contorted, but the shape of it looked so wrong on their youngest.

“‘Course we are, but that’s not going to heal him.” Porthos’ voice softened and the smoothness of the sound wound around the words was enough to press against the building tension.

Athos had a feeling d’Artagnan’s response was reflexive – a typical answer to a challenge even when there wasn’t one issued. D’Artagnan looked like he just wanted to tuck himself back on the bed rather than bristle back at them. Athos had been saved from his own confrontation about getting up and now didn’t need to admit to feeling unable to do so. In some ways he was grateful for the focus to shift to d’Artagnan and the distraction on working out what had him bothered.

“Look, I’m kind of trapped here,” Porthos waved his hands, briefly removing them from resting on their friend. Athos knew it was more to reassure Porthos than to steady Aramis who was heavy with sleep and not moving any time soon. “And it ought to be done several times a day: two days is hardly enough.”

Had it really been so brief a time since they got him back? They’d spent the better part of the afternoon and overnight at the cabin when they’d found him. Athos was still a bit disjointed in his thinking, but he knew they’d only been back at Foix for a day.

“What have you suddenly got against touching him?” Porthos breathed out a frustrated sigh as he returned his hands to Aramis.

It was a near thing, but he managed not to groan. Provoking d’Artagnan was rarely advisable without a plan and with two of them recuperating it was not ideal. Then again, resisting Porthos was sometimes like baiting a bear. Suddenly Athos was tempted to throw the heavy blankets over himself and hibernate.

“What is it?” Athos held a hand up to stay Porthos. His sluggish thoughts were still tripping around his cluttered mind to understand. They’d all been at risk before and most danger occurred in a quick fight: injuries received in an instant and tended as soon as possible. Even when they’d been damaged from being held or captured, he reflected that the aftermath never left one of them this critical since d’Artagnan had been with them. He prompted with that in mind. “D’Artagnan.”

“Nothing,” he frowned over at Athos.

Athos was not normally inclined to push, every man was entitled to his own thoughts – he prized that higher than most. However, he sensed something was off with d’Artagnan now that he scrutinized his actions over the last hours in totality. In doing so it was adding up to something being amiss.

“Nothing, I just,” he uncrossed his arms and tugged his fingers through his hair. “It’s just…I think…”

He trailed off more wrong footed than Athos had seen to date. Athos pulled his thoughts back at their initial lead on Aramis’ condition. He hedged his speculation. “You won’t injure him further.”

It wasn’t gratitude, but there was something that eased in the dark eyes.

“Is that it?” Porthos asked barely above a whisper. Athos suspected if Porthos weren’t already holding Aramis he’d be wrapping an arm or both around d’Artagnan.

D’Artragnan’s hands bent on his waist as though he was bracing to retort. If he protested, he didn’t have to fully admit to what they were all thinking and what they'd touched on earlier: Aramis might not live. For all their efforts, for all the hours the doctors had spent, there was still much to heal.

“You’re not trying to make it worse; you’re trying to help him get better. Can’t say it didn’t hurt to have to do that myself last night, but it’s all we can do.” Porthos reached over to grab the small pot of salve and held it out. “If you’d rather not, you can always swap with me and act as a pillow instead.”

That drew a snort from both Athos and d’Artagnan.

Porthos looked Athos over. “The only reason you’re excused is your injury.” Porhos shook the pot towards d’Artagnan. “Now come on, I can tell you all about how Aramis nearly killed them both and that turned out just fine.”

D’Artagnan just shook his head, but he did move towards Porthos.

“I would not say it turned out fine, but we got there eventually.” Athos offered.

“Really? And once again, whose fault was it that Aramis lost his wits?” Porthos passed the pot to d’Artagnan and stared down at Athos.

Partly so d’Artagnan could begin without their scrutiny, and partly for the familiarity of years long arguing about an event long past, Athos took up the debate. “You are implying he still had his wits about him at that point. Which, he did not.”

“Fair.” Porthos accepted. “But you certainly made it worse.”

“Also fair, but I was trying to help him.”

“By doing something he’d already warned us not to?”

“I didn’t realize that – I was merely aiding him to sleep.”

“Hah, more like you wanted the quiet so you could rest. That didn’t turn out too well, did it?”

“You just assured d’Artagnan everything turned out fine. Are you now claiming different?”

“Me? No. You both nearly killed me when my heart stopped at seeing each of you, but…”

“Will you just tell me the rest of the story already!” D’Artagnan had turned the covers back and was slowly working.

Pprthos winked over at Athos and smiled to signify a truce. “Right. Now where was I?”

“Orders for tax collection, Athos was upset?” D’Artagnan prompted.

“We had just finished breakfast and you two were already concerned over lunch.”

D’Artagnan kept working in the salve. “You hadn’t even left Paris yet…” He quirked his brow and then dropped his gaze back to task.

“No and at this pace, we’ll be having lunch before we do.” Athos folded his hand back over his side and closed his eyes. “By all means continue though.”

“Nobody appreciates the art of storytelling around here.” Porthos huffed. “But, I’ll tell you anyway. Especially because Athos’d just make a muck of it.”

Athos didn’t open his eyes, “Yes. We rode out, we met with danger, Aramis lost his mind and nearly killed me, then went mad with it and nearly killed himself. Luckily for us, and you, Porthos got over his heart-stopping shock at the sight of his one near dead, and one mad, friend and we all lived for him to tell this embellished tale.”

“There, proved my point, see d’Artagnan? Was that a satisfying tale?”

“Immensely.” Athos’ eyes remained closed as he breathed out the word.

“Didn’t ask you.” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan’s brows had been nearing his hairline while Athos spoke. Now he just gaped at them both despite only one them being able to see it. He drew breath to reply, but Porthos cut him off.

“No, it wasn’t. Now since you're so eager to skip the details and get to the journey...we’d secured provisions from Serge and we were heading out of Paris…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...you know how in the Princess Bride the story keeps getting interrupted? Yeah, d'Artagnan just wouldn't let it go despite not being sick or being squicked by kissing. Then again it's not like there's much kissing happening. In any event I know Gen Fics aren't the most exciting, so I'll try to keep this winding tale as interesting as possible!


	4. Chapter 4

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Aramis crunched his last bite of apple before tossing it across to Porthos. He didn’t look to see if it was caught, choosing instead to keep his eyes on Athos’ back several yards in front of them. Athos had ridden ahead once they had cleared the city. He’d claimed it was to scout but given how he was still well within their line of sight the distance was more likely credited to their bickering. Well to Aramis’ comments perhaps, Athos had merely stated he was “going to scout ahead” before kicking to a canter and then slowed only moments later further down their route.

“Do you suppose it’s personal?” Aramis asked.

Porthos meanwhile had fed the remnants of the apple to his mount, Aramis’ first discarded core had gone to his own. They did this rarely given the nuisance and hindrance of the bit, but both men knew Athos would not look kindly on a break this early on. His horse barely slowed to consume the treat as he and Aramis kept a walking pace in the thickening heat.

Athos had rushed them along which was how Aramis wound up consuming his fruit as they made their way out of the city. The only thing fortunate about the rising summer heat was that it forced them to keep their pace slow which made eating on horseback easier to swallow – literally. 

“Dunno, he didn’t seem all that peeved with you.” Porthos remarked.

Aramis swung in the saddle, “What? No. His mood, Porthos! Something about this mission bothers him.” He tipped his hat up slightly to peer over at his friend. “Even Treville seemed to notice.”

Porthos frowned. “Guess he was a bit prickly.”

“Prickly?” Aramis slid his gaze to eye their friend’s back, even further in the distance now as he was moving his mount to make way for a passing cart. “We were barely underway before he threatened to kick me!”

Porthos barked a laugh at the fresh memory of Athos’ threat – hardly uncommon between them for Athos to threaten Aramis with bodily harm – but it had only been a few minutes into their mission. Even that was pushing it for Athos, he normally had more patience for Aramis’ teasing. Then again, Aramis was pushing relentlessly at their friend’s mood to uncover the root of it. 

“Yeah, well better get a move on before he really does ‘kick you so hard you’ll feel it for days’ then.” Porthos shifted in the saddle and eyed their friend.

As if their combined gaze had weight Athos turned and shouted back to them, “Gentlemen, if you would!” Athos had pulled to a stop, his horse now side-on to them down the road. He looked at them steadily, Aramis imagined the pinch of his eyes as they were still too far to make out his features, “Days, Aramis!”

“Will you at least allow me to choose where?” He spread his arms wide even as Porthos groaned beside him.

Porthos shook his head and gathered his reins tighter as they ambled closer to Athos. “Thought you were trying to get his mood to improve.”

“Apparently threating me with bodily injury soothes him.” Aramis smiled and tipped his hat at the elder gentleman on the passing cart.

Their walking pace steadily drew them close enough to observe the dour expression on Athos’ face.

“Now, Athos, that poor man will believe Musketeers to be inclined to brawling on the roadside and that’s hardly the reputation we want to uphold.” Aramis began as they neared, Porthos was between them and nearly stopped his own progress to keep from getting in the middle. “Besides, you know it’s my women I sometimes prefer violent, not my friends.”

“Then don’t give me cause.” Athos was already turning his horse to lead again, “I’d like to make Frazé or at least Mesliers tonight.”

“Frazé!” Aramis cried to Athos’ back. “You must be joking! In this heat? We’re best off to make for Chartres.” Aramis glanced at Porthos an easy smile on his face. “Much better accommodations and entertainment for the evening.”

“We have a mission.” Athos bit out.

“Which we have a week to complete.” Aramis protested.

Porthos shifted again in the saddle, the sweat beading on his neck beginning to prickle as the tension picked up between his two friends. “He’s got a point, no sense racing today. We left late and it’ll be past noon before we’re anywhere near Chartres.”

“And we would have left immediately if you’d not taken so long in the pantry.” Athos did not turn and there was no levity to his declaration.

Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other and Porthos could tell by the disbelief on Aramis’ features it would be best to intercede himself.

“We needed provisions, especially in this weather.” Porthos took a breath to expand his thoughts on the matter but was cut off by Aramis.

“There was no sense in rushing our preparations.” Aramis wasn’t yet matching Athos’ biting tone, but Porthos knew it was not long before this would escalate. “Hastening today will only hinder us later.” Aramis continued in an attempt at reasoning.

Athos said nothing.

“Let’s just see where we wind up at our next rest.” Porthos ventured.

“We’ll see.” Athos kicked up to a canter and once again stopped within sight of the other two.

Porthos blew out a rush of breath. “Definitely prickly.”

“Quite.” Aramis huffed. “Mark me, Porthos, something is not right with him and I mean to find out what.”

Porthos swiped at the back of his neck, “Maybe it’s just the heat?”

Aramis grimaced, the heat was not helping matters, but there was more to this. Athos’ mood had darkened at their assignment, and he’d not even objected to their sparring in the heat prior. There was a deeper reason driving this temperament. “It may be a factor, but something else’s got him wound tight.”

“Yeah, well careful he doesn’t unwind by kicking you across the clearing when we stop.” Porthos cautioned.

Aramis breathed a laugh, hardly bothered, “In this weather, if it’s into a stream, I just might not mind it my friend.”

Porthos barked out a laugh and didn’t stop even when he caught Athos turning his gaze over his shoulder at them.  
  


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Athos’ mood had not improved by the time they stopped to rest the horses and provide themselves a break. Baron Desmarais’ estate was just outside Le Mans and Athos seemed hellbent on gaining as much ground as possible towards their destination today. He’d made it clear this was a brief stop for the horses and to stretch their own legs, a longer stop would be indulged later for lunch. 

At Porthos’ raised brow Aramis did at least check where Athos was standing when he crouched to splash water on his face and down his neck at the brook’s edge.

Porthos whistled as he plunged his hands into the cool moving stream. “No way we’re making Frazé tonight, not when we’ll need to stop the horses every hour in this heat.”

Athos said nothing to Porthos’ suggestion. He refastened his wetted scarf and moved to tend his mount without a word. Aramis met his gaze and flicked the water from his hands in annoyance but held his tongue. He shifted to sit by the water and nodded the responsibility of negotiation to Porthos.

They argued back and forth with their eyes before Aramis ended it by looking back to the stream and dragging his hand in the cool water.

“Might even be worth taking the opportunity to – ”

Athos turned back as Porthos dragged his words out and watched him incline his head. He glowered at the nonverbal implication, “Do not even think it. Be ready to move in the next few minutes.”

Once more Aramis and Porthos found themselves staring in disbelief at Athos’ back.

Porthos was grateful Aramis chose not to argue. He was less grateful when he was splattered with cold water before Aramis leaned back on his hands and splayed his legs straight. At least the splashed water cooled him slightly, though he gazed mournfully at the moving water they were denied immersing themselves into.

“It was a noble attempt, my friend,” Aramis smiled up at him from under the brim of his hat. He tilted his head as far back as he dared to without upsetting the feathered shield against the sun. “A valiant effort against tyrannical oppression, but our taskmaster shall not let his underlings have even the briefest relief.” Aramis increased the volume of his speech as he continued his pointed teasing, watching the tense line of Athos’ shoulders pull at the leather on his back.

“We are doomed to suffer because ‘Lord Athos’…” He’d stressed the pretend title loudly, intending to rant further about their misfortune.

“Enough!” Athos turned back to them and the tension along his limbs made it look as though he was ready to storm over to them. Both men held themselves still, like prey desperately poised in hopes to go unnoticed and escape unscathed. Athos looked as though he deflated completely, something unspooling in those pale eyes, before he swept an impassive gaze over them both, “If you’ve time to spin stories then you’re more than ready to continue. We move on.” 

Aramis sighed, “Perhaps we can renegotiate at the next respite.”

Porhtos released the breath he’d been holding in a frustrated gust. “C’mon,” Aramis ruefully extended his arm to meet the offered hand and allowed Porthos to pull him up. “Let’s go ‘fore he changes his mind about kicking you.”

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The next respite proved a longer wait than their first one. Aramis debated pouring the remainder of his waterskin down his doublet, but he doubted Athos would stop before he was ready even if Aramis was out of water. They’d taken to riding single file and, in their heat-induced misery, were several yards apart each.

It wasn’t animosity that was the undercurrent, and they were comfortable enough with each other that sometimes they naturally fell silent for long stretches of travel. However, there was a disquiet that unsettled their silence. Each man was left to his own thoughts, but they were almost certainly all discomforted by the growing tension. It was like the growing pressure that filled the air before a storm broke and Aramis just hoped it didn’t result in a torrent of anger between them.

He was distracted, but not so much that his rear position in their procession kept him from noticing a disruption in the tree line. He’d thought it wildlife at first, but what deer would wander about in this oppressive heat. Aramis halted and studied the woods, pressing his gloved finger to his temple to catch the sweat stinging his eye. By the time he cleared his vision the shrubbery stilled, and he could discern no movement. A trick of the light perhaps, for there was no wind. 

“Aramis!”

He nearly growled his frustration aloud. As it was, he staged a minor rebellion by sparing a few minutes more to study deeper into the wooded horizon. He didn’t reply but gave some ground by catching up to draw alongside Porthos who’d been riding between them. He said nothing to either man and mutinously dropped to walk at pace beside Porthos.

Athos stared silently from his lead position, but was satisfied to turn back around and continue ahead.

“Everything okay?”

He was so fixated on glaring at that back that Aramis startled when Porthos poked at his bicep. They were close enough to touch but Aramis hadn’t even noticed the movement until it happened. Aramis shook his head quickly to clear it.

“I thought I saw movement.” Even as he said it, Aramis doubted. The heat was reaching an unbearable level on their exposed position in the open road - plains to one side and thick woods to the other - and with the sun at a pinnacle overhead. 

Porthos slapped him on the shoulder, “Not much is moving in this heat.”

Aramis didn’t deny the truth. They’d seen significantly less travelers than normal on the roads out of Paris and even the routes near the more populous cities and towns had little traffic. Still, something flickered at the edges of his senses.

“I’ll keep an eye too though,” Porthos promised glancing around them. “Not like we’ve got anything else to do and he ain’t letting us stop anytime soon either.”

Aramis’ shoulders lost their tension as he smirked over at his brother. He resisted the urge to glare at the back of his other brother.

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	5. Chapter 5

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D’Artagnan paused his light circles on Aramis’ heels. Now that his reluctance had been put in stark relief it helped him reform his purpose. He was never one to shy from a task, and he was determined Aramis would recover: anything else was not acceptable. If that meant he needed to take up some of the wound care then his full investment would be behind these actions. His thumbs pressed down the remaining salve as he looked up. “That seems a bit more than moody, Porthos. Did you even get to collect the tax? Or did Athos try to drown him before you completed your assignment?”

“He exaggerates,” Athos remained reclined with his eyes closed, but fully attentive. Well, he was as attentive as both men could assume him after his head injury.

“Not even a bit,” Porthos countered. “It was a tense ride, and that summer was one of the hottest I can remember.”

“Naturally,” Athos smirked. He tugged the bedclothes higher over himself, more chilled than he'd realized since they'd declined to let him dress. He also refused to admit he'd need their help to do so. “And undoubtedly nothing has been added for dramatic effect.”

“Athos, you just don’t understand how to go about weaving a good tale.” Porthos admonished. “And you,” he pinned d’Artagnan with his gaze, but belied the severity with mirth. “If you’ll remember, I said it was Aramis that tried to drown himself.”

“Not that I hadn’t been tempted.” Athos groused.

Porthos whipped his head back to the man despite knowing he wasn’t looking at him. “Can’t say I’m surprised, but you seemed more tense than murderous most of the time.”

“He brings forth my better qualities,” Athos offered. “I was quietly weighing my options.”

Porthos said nothing, considering his memories and all the conversations he’d had with them separately and together since.

“Athos did threaten to kick him.” D’Artagnan stated.

“Sure, that’s the part you remember correctly.” Porthos teased.

“You mentioned it multiple times.” D’Artagnan said.

Athos breathed out, “Biding my time.”

D'Artagnan and Porthos ignored his input. “Point, but Athos threatenin’ to smack him? Hardly irregular.”

“Hmmm, perhaps I need to do so with even greater regularity.” Athos mused.

“You say that like it’d actually deter him off his course.” Porthos chuckled. Aramis took near vindictive delight at times in riling up their brother regardless of his own self-preservation. With his inclination for danger Porthos imagined that Aramis safeguarding himself was trumped by the thrill of the game. Athos was inconstant in his response and Porthos thought that was part of the temptation for Aramis; and everyone said it was Porthos who liked to gamble. He glanced down at the dark head on his chest just as oblivious now to the debate about him as he was to his own preservation at times. “It’s not like he didn’t have good reason to be annoyed. Or concerned. We both did.”

“Or you might’ve listened, kept pace and avoided our difficulties entirely.” Athos pressed his palm to his side tightly. He bit his lip quickly stopping a hiss from making it fully past and swallowed slowly. It was hardly his fault he'd been dragged from his saddle during a prisoner's escort, but he was still aggravated at being injured. 

“All right?” Porthos asked genuinely worried.

“Nothing that cannot wait for the doctor.” Athos assured, still not opening his eyes. He breathed evenly, he was content to rest and have his side looked at after Aramis was examined. 

Porthos glanced to the windows and observed the lightening sky indicating the progressing dawn. “Sure you can wait? It’ll be some time yet. We could send for one of them now.”

Athos opened one eye to peer up at Porthos. “I will be fine.” He opened both eyes to consider Aramis across from him on Porthos’ chest.

Porthos followed his gaze. He was eager for Aramis to be seen to again but given how little he’d slept the previous night he was just as determined the man have some uninterrupted rest. He turned his attention towards d’Artagnan once more, heartened to see that he’d taken to his task fully now that he’d gotten past his initial hesitation. “What do you think?”

“They still look,” D’Artagnan pulled his brows down as he gazed at the skin he was treating, “raw.” He allowed his frustration to bleed into his voice. “But then, so do his legs, and…” He gestured helplessly upwards. He hadn’t even begun applying the salve to the cuts along Aramis’ calves and noted that some of those were showing pinkened skin at their edges. They’d left his braies untied at the leg and d’Artagnan could just make out where his knees had darkened the fabric with bleeding overnight. He’d not flipped the bedclothes up further and he was tempted now to draw them back down.

“Yeah. Just finish up with that,” Porthos instructed not wanting to think about all the damage they couldn’t currently view, “they’ll probably be here by the time you do.”

D’Artagnan nodded and wordlessly took more salve to start working along the ankles and up the exposed calves. Sensing the drifting mood, he decided it best to redirect all their thoughts. “So, Aramis tried to drown himself to avoid the heat or was it Athos?”

“Or Athos that he wanted to avoid that drove him to it?” Porthos answered.

“D’Artagnan.” Athos began in a tone that was offering advice he expected to be taken as directive. “If you keep interrupting him it will be sunset before he even gets to that part.”

“Hmm, you know,” Porthos tapped at Athos’ shoulder. “If you’d actually kicked him into that initial brook, we’d have avoided nearly all our troubles.”

“You may be right; I’d failed to consider how much might be resolved simply by following through on my threats.” Athos concluded.

Porthos snorted. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I’ve been remiss. Far too indulgent.” Athos muttered.

“Definitely not what I said.” Porthos shook his head. “If you two had just hashed it out earlier on we might have all been operating from the same page by Chartres.”

“You did go to Chartres that night then?” D’Artagnan asked.

“No, no, you make a strong case Porthos. I will take it under advisement: I ought to just beat him more.” Before Porthos could object Athos addressed d’Artagnan. “And what did I say about interrupting him? He’s already prolonging this beyond need.”

D’Artagnan looked like he wanted to protest on both his and Aramis’ behalf, Porthos he’d let fend for himself.

“‘Cause your version was so much more accurate.” Porthos complained. 

“It was concise.” Athos insisted. “This is a sprawling overstatement of events.”

Porthos looked to d’Artagnan, “I should have dumped ‘em both in the river and collected the money myself.”

“Clearly I should have kicked Aramis into one.” Athos intoned. “Or just kicked him.”

“Now, now, that’s hardly fair considering your own demeanor at the time.”

“He invites it.” Athos scoffed. “I was merely focused on the expedient completion of our mission.”

D’Artagnan just shook his head and continued massaging Aramis’ legs.

“Didn’t I kick him later on?” Athos mused. “I should have.”

“I’m gonna kick you in a minute.” Porthos threatened.

“Will it see this story concluded sooner?” Athos glanced back over at him. “If so, by all means feel free.”

“And it’d be no more than you deserve,” Porthos grumbled, “but it’d be just my luck you’d rip open your stitches and wake him up.”

“Oh yes, and we all know that ruining needlework where Aramis is concerned does not end well.”

Porthos scrutinized him for a moment, “You sure you want to wait on Corbeau? Your head may still not be altogether.”

Athos heaved out a long breath. “I am fine. Please, continue your tale,” Athos invited, with a gesture to Porthos, as he closed his eyes again. “Though let’s try to have fewer interruptions, hmm?”

“Seems like you’ve been doing most of the talking just now.” Porthos snarked affably instead of resuming his retelling. 

“Perhaps Aramis is not the only one I’ve indulged too far?” Athos smiled.

“Try it, see what happens.” Porthos teased. “Then again, we’d only wake him. Guess you’re lucky.”

“I am aghast at my good fortune.” 

D’Artagnan shrugged at Porthos. “Chartres?” He encouraged before ducking back down to hide a broad smile. 

“Oh, it wasn’t even afternoon. We were nowhere near Chartres and Athos wanted nothing to do with passing through there much less stopping.”

“But you said…” D'Artagnan looked back up, but kept his hands sliding ointment into the marked flesh. 

“I said interruptions to a minimum, d’Artagnan.” Athos drawled.

Porthos rolled his eyes but ignored Athos and kept his voice level. He resettled himself against the pillows, mindful not to move too quickly and disturb Aramis resting against him. “And I said, I am the hero of this whole undertaking so I’m going to be the one who tells it.” Porthos didn’t even pause to allow a breath for Athos or d’Artagnan to interject. “Aramis and I were indulgent after Athos’ outburst, but we did want to ensure the horses were looked after…”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idek. They just bickered and it became the next chapter? This random foray into attempts at fanfic writing has had the unintended aspect of less time to -read- them sadly. I am going to have to time manage better. How do real fanfic authors do this??? 
> 
> In any event...here's a new chapter! Thank you so much for indulging me in this madness. I am so thrilled and touched by all the kudos and comments. Also...many thanks for reading!!!


	6. Chapter 6

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Athos pushed them several leagues in the next hour.

Aramis continued to call out proposals and questions.

Porthos did his best to monitor them both, voicing his own opinion occasionally to diffuse the mounting strain between them all.

Another half hour passed with no stopping and Porthos’ entreaties and Aramis’ demands remained largely ignored. Athos clipped out an assurance they would take time for lunch and to rest the horses, but that seemed further in the past than Porthos knew it had occurred.

Normally Aramis’ moods were light and mutable, like a flock of birds turning on the wind, he could change quickly. As Porthos observed him now he was like a vulture, his focus circling on Athos with the intent to dive in and tear at him. Aramis was generally someone who was quick to clear the air, it was Athos who often brooded in the buildup to a confrontation.

Porthos knew he would need to intervene before one or both acted in a manner they would regret. Then again, with the way they were inadvertently goading each other he was not sure either would regret anything short of permanent harm. Which, considering how well each of them could maneuver words, even a cutting slight might land deeper and more lasting than the speaker intended. Porthos was rarely subject to their particularly scathing snipes as they seemed to reserve such deep annoyance for each other. He credited this to the fact that both men could be so similar – though both would vehemently deny this – in their mindset but so disparate in how they acted out. This was hardly the first time he was tempted to smack their heads together to jostle loose the untenable mood they were perpetuating.

“We should stop!” Aramis called ahead to where Athos was nearly out of sight in the distance. If Athos even heard his shout, he paid it no mind and he certainly did not slow. Instead he fell from sight as he cleared the turn in their path and continued onward.

Porthos could feel his skin itch with the force of Aramis’ stare landing on him. Or maybe that was just the unyielding sweat? Regardless of why, this growing unease was not going to lessen without an intervention, and it was safer left to him than either of them to initiate that. Porthos had to agree with Aramis; they needed a pause as this unending plod – slow paced as it was – would not benefit them later. He’d bet high that Athos was planning to push them harder when the sun lowered, and the late afternoon began to cool down the air. He wouldn’t object, but he saw no sense in risking themselves or the horses now if they meant to have reserves for later today. His own patience was running thin.

“We'll catch him up, see if we can reason with him.” Porthos suggested, trying not to take out his growing impatience on his only slightly more agreeable companion. “He knows the horses need it.”

“Yes, let us appeal to his care for our steeds,” Aramis’ sarcasm was sharper than it was joking, “since he clearly has no thought for us today.”

Porthos didn’t completely disagree with him, but both of them digging their heels in would only encourage Athos’ mulish response. He dropped one hand to his knee to steady himself as he turned to soothe his friend. “It’s not going to get better with you prodding him. Let’s …”

“Me?” Aramis broke incredulously into his speech. “Have you not also been witness to his behavior? We’re to indulge him in this?” Aramis gestured one gloved hand forwards in a sweep. “He’s hardly been a paragon of patience of late.”

Porthos just relaxed into his saddle and let Aramis finish. Again, he could not wholly disagree. “Like you said, something more is behind it.” He shrugged the shoulder closer to Aramis, even the pauldron was a weight in the beating sun.

Aramis leaned across the short distance between their horses. “That doesn’t matter, he’s grown deaf to our suggestions.”

“He’s probably…we know that if…” Porthos wanted to defend Athos’ course, but his own behavior was making that excessively difficult.

“It’s irresponsible.” Aramis hissed.

“There’s gotta be a cause for it?” Porthos cautioned him and was encouraged when his brother eased back into a proper seat.

“One he’s not going to provide to us now.” He knew they’d have to tread carefully around whatever this was, just as he knew the more Aramis forced the issue the tighter Athos would lock down his engagement with them. Aramis knew it too and Porthos was growing agitated that he would not back off even slightly, but he understood. He did.

“He damn well will,” Aramis argued, “and soon. I will not spend days cossetting him in this, this – whatever this mood is becoming.” Aramis clenched his reins and then steadied himself as his horse shifted, she sensed her rider’s restlessness and was asserting her own dissatisfaction.

Porthos looked upward, swallowing against a harsher response. “We’ll get him to stop and talk to us.”

“It’s indefensible!” Aramis insisted. Though he did lean back into his saddle and let his voice express anger while he relaxed his body.

Porthos could have shook him. “You just said you wanted an explanation.”

Aramis swiped angrily at his damp brow with the back of his glove, all calm posture gone, nearly dislodging his hat. “What possible excuse could there be for this?”

Porthos huffed back. “You know he’s probably got some reason, no matter how bent the logic, but we aren’t getting it out of him now. Let’s just get him to rest and move on.”

He was just as eager for a break as Aramis, they were together in their frustration with that at least. Porthos was likewise annoyed, if not more than Aramis, as he had both men to contend with and neither seemed amenable to mediation. He too was sweaty, he was equally as tired of Athos’ growing aloofness as Aramis, he was also finding himself more irritated with Athos, but this was hardly the first time their personalities clashed a bit on the road. It just needed a little smoothing and they could resolve the larger problem this evening with any luck.

“Then we pander to him?” Aramis’ voice was rising, and he was tensing further in his saddle. “He is being unreasonable.”

Barring luck Porthos could just use brute force to keep them from seriously harming each other. “Won’t get any better if we return in kind.” Porthos tried.

“Does the phrase ‘united we stand, divided we fall’ mean nothing?” Aramis proclaimed, his voice pitching in annoyance.

“He’s a bit grumpy, Aramis, we’re not not united.” Porthos twisted his mouth as he rethought the negatives in that phrasing.

Aramis dismissed it entirely, too focused on their brother’s attitude. “Grumpy? That’s what you’re thinking. Grumpy! Something is wrong and…”

“And it isn’t going to get better with you picking at him!” Porthos exclaimed, reasonably he thought. Aramis was not inclined to agree. Porthos flicked his eyes to the tree line behind Aramis momentarily trying to diffuse the irritation he could see in his brother’s gaze. He thought he caught sight of a heat weary animal sloping in the undergrowth, but he was startled from his appreciation of nature at Aramis’ next outburst. 

“I am not picking!” Aramis nearly stood in his stirrups, blocking Porthos’ view and twisting to round on him. “I am trying to help!”

“Is that what you’re calling this delay?” Athos’ cool inquiry floated over.

He’d circled back and just as Porthos and Aramis only peripherally noted that they’d halted as they grew more animated in their discussion, they had not noted Athos’ approach. He looked placidly displeased.

This entire circumstance was not ideal considering they were engaged in a mission nor was it really befitting of them in general. Later they’d be grateful that this moment could be cited as one that reminded them to resolve conflict more readily, but in the actual moment at least two of them were contemplating violence. Whether it was to be a verbal or physical confrontation went undiscovered as their simmering anger wound up redirected when Aramis’ horse lurched in warning. With her rider turned, his back was angled away from the tree line, her view picked up the disturbance.

How lucky for them that they were able to take their frustrations out on these newcomers rather than each other. Porthos nearly made a comment about fortunes turning. As it was, he just about had time to pivot in his saddle to see the running vandal approaching from his periphery as he’d studied Athos. He managed to angle and shoot the man over Aramis’ shoulder.

Any disharmony was eradicated as they moved smoothly to counter the chaotic run of the motley clothed men attacking them. They rotated seamlessly from their loose triangular positioning to best defend themselves and each other. Outnumbered and caught unawares would prove fatal for most travelers, but it was almost comforting how easily they adjusted to thwart the attack.

Porthos found himself smiling broadly as he watched Aramis balance his weight on one stirrup to slip a leg free and savagely kick one of the men in the face as he tried to plunge a dagger into Aramis’ knee. He swung his mount around to protect her side in the maneuver and drew his pistol to fire at another who’d had his own weapon trained on Athos before rebalancing on his saddle. Athos had his back to that man since he’d been shooting at one of the men who’d evaded them to come around the other side of the roadway to shoot at them unnoticed. He fell immediately as the ball from Athos’ shot connected with his neck.

Sensing movement behind him, Porthos flipped his own spent pistol and swung it around to knock against the approaching man’s temple. A rapid overview and count of attackers still standing supported his decision to dismount and finish the fight on the ground. His opponent fell after two punches and Porthos drew his still loaded pistol to hold the man there.

“Stop!” Aramis had his arquebus trained on two running men as they tore back into the thick cluster of trees, abandoning the fight and their comrades. He fired a shot intended to wound at the further one hoping to halt them both, but the second man ran straight past the first after he fell. Moments later the injured man, despite being hit in the arm, struggled up and continued running.

Porthos didn’t glance around to take stock of the other attackers as he kept his eyes trained on the man at his feet, “You giving chase?” He asked the other two.

Despite Aramis’ open – and likely continuing – displeasure with Athos he didn’t move to follow the men and still turned to Athos for his input. They’d solidified themselves as a unit over time, not without some difficulties initially, finding themselves coalescing together in a way that naturally left Athos guiding their actions, if not ordering in some cases. Aramis respected the former easily and wheedled around the latter when necessary. No matter what any of them may have marginally fallen out over nothing yet had ruptured their innate bond and instinct.

“Leave them.”

Aramis nodded sharply and dismounted. Approaching the man he’d kicked earlier Aramis hauled him up and Porthos waved his own captive towards them. The first man who’d burst from the trees was groaning where he lay after he had been shot and they herded the three together as Athos dismounted behind them.

Porthos knocked his shoulder into Aramis as he stood beside him and gestured for the man he’d struck on the head to continue towards the other two. At least their tenuous loyalty extended to helping the third man to his feet, but they didn’t check his injury and were just as likely hoping to offer him up to make good their own escape. A few moments later Athos joined them and held a bundle of rope toward Porthos. “The other two are dead.”

Porthos took a quick tally: two killed, two ran and the three wounded were a shamble at the roadside. He exchanged his pistol to take the rope from Athos and moved to secure the men. Aramis closed in to insure the one Porthos was tying didn’t move while Athos kept a threatening eye and weapon on the others.

As Porthos was binding the wrists of the one, Aramis looked to the other uninjured man – mostly uninjured – Aramis’ boot strike was already promising to leave a decent mark.

“That’s quite the elegant weapon; however, it seems that pistol is rather out of place with the rest of your…accoutrements.” He kicked at the used pistol the man had discharged early on before drawing his knife.

Since Porthos had the man in front of him secured enough not to be a risk, he glanced over at it. The pistol bore a curving pattern of inlay work and did indeed look much finer than the rest of their weaponry.

“Had better luck with the last ones.” The man spit out, along with some blood from where his teeth had cut along his lip.

“Last ones weren’t the King’s Musketeers.” Porthos said, tightening the final binding on the first man and taking the trailing rope to start on the next. Aramis yanked the man with the rapidly bruising visage over. “You lot must’ve been mad with the heat to attempt this.”

“Why did you?” Athos demanded of the third man, who was bleeding freely from his wounded forearm.

As pleasant as his companions he sneered up at Athos despite the weapon remaining trained on him. “Figured it weren’t that hard to do when we scouted y’earlier. He barely noticed.”

Porthos and Aramis looked over at the words. Aramis had removed his hat when he dismounted and involuntarily rubbed his hand at his nape – a surefire tell whenever he was under Athos’ glare. Porthos said nothing and finished securing the man in front of him with a hard twist of the rope.

“And ye’ve all been squabbling. Ignorin’ each other.” He nodded his dirty face at Athos, who at least had the grace to frown, but stared down the man to cover why he did so. “Shoulda been easy pickin’s once them two were yellin’.” 

Porthos sent a small apology with his eyes at Aramis who just as rapidly dismissed it with a chagrined gaze of his own. Porthos shrugged back and smiled. They both doubted Athos would be so generous with his forgiveness.

“A mistake.” Athos declared. He shoved him towards Porthos and made for the bodies still in the road.

Porthos grabbed the man to secure him last in the line with the other two. He held the bleeding arm up to Aramis who shrugged and moved off. Porthos smirked at the injured man as he began winding the rope over the uninjured arm.

Aramis returned with his waterskin but moved to rip the hem of the somewhat clean shirt the man wore. He tore enough for a bandage, unwilling to waste their own on a criminal who would either be taken care of, or eventually executed, when they delivered him. He generously poured the last of his water over the gash made from the ball tearing across the skin; selfishly he was glad to exhaust it as he was certain there would be multiple stops now. When he finished binding the wound and Aramis left him to Porthos to finish securing.

Aramis sauntered over to where Athos stood considering the corpses, but cautiously left space between them. He covered it by standing over the closer body and observed Athos across the way where he stood between the two dead men. When Athos met his eyes, they both stared at each other.

Their battle-born truce was dissipating it seemed and Porthos was reminded of two bucks eyeing each other before locking horns. If he wasn’t already occupied with the guarding of three prisoners he’d have strode over and smashed their stubborn heads together. He folded his arms, keeping a tight hold on the lead of the rope and loudly asked, “You three gonna bury your men?”

The would-be thieves and bandits hedged and avoided his gaze. One of them had the gall to mutter “not in this heat” and Porthos nearly punched him. So much for brotherhood, even among mercenaries he’d expected some sort of camaraderie as they’d obviously done this before.

Aramis curled his mouth in disgust and softened his gaze along with Athos who was similarly affronted by the men’s lack of decency. It was an odd thing to be grateful for, but if it eased their splintering Porthos would take it. Aramis crouched and moved to close the man’s eyes, “Not long before they’ll begin to stink in this weather.”

“Come,” Athos bent down and indicated they’d drag him over to the edge of the road where the one Athos shot in the neck lay. “It’s unlikely the others will return for them. We will have a cart sent back when we deliver these three.”

Aramis nodded and helped move the corpse from the path of any future travelers that might happen to be on the road today. At least any travelers would only be inconvenienced by the bodies, which was a small price to pay in lieu of encountering their own death at the hands of these men’s former number. He provided the same service to the other man’s eyes and they slid him further off the road as well.

Athos crossed to the captives and yanked the lightweight cloak off the bruised-faced man. “Hey! They ain’t needing that!”

“It’s likely that neither will you.” Athos warned before striding back across to lay it over the bodies, tucking it round with Aramis’ aid.

Aramis startled when Athos touched his shoulder briefly, “We will make for Chartres after all. It will be easiest to deliver them to the magistrate there and they may investigate if they wish. They’ll also have the resources to retrieve these two.”

“We should…” Aramis was slow to disrupt the calm that had settled.

“There is a wide stream further around that bend.” Athos didn’t bother to voice if that was what he’d circled back to tell them or if it had owed to his annoyance at their tarrying.

Aramis nodded. He refused to acknowledge that Athos may have intended that all along; besides, it had still been too long a wait. He moved to remount and decided he would let their temporary peace stand between them.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

If Porthos had inadvertently brokered their peace, it was Athos who broke it.

After securing the prisoners and the horses the three of them settled close to the stream to finally partake of their provisions. The provisions they had, Porthos declined to comment, because he and Aramis had the forethought in obtaining such a stash. Instead of needling Athos with this fact, Porthos began to divide up their holdings.

Athos inclined his head as Porthos tossed him a pear and leaned back against a curving trunk facing the water’s edge. He took a chunk of bread that Aramis broke off and offered with a silent extension of his hand with the same quiet acceptance. One of his waterskins lay untouched by his leg, and he indulged in a – likely rationed – drink before addressing them with his eyes fixed on the water.

“You knew we were being followed?”

Porthos imagined he could hear the clack of antlers clashing. “Leave it, Athos.” He settled back against the same tree, his legs parallel to the bank, but the trunk was wide enough his shoulder didn’t touch Athos.’ If they had touched, he might have jostled his friend in a warning to let the issue rest.

“Did you know?” The brief pause between each word ratcheted the tense atmosphere that began slowly rising around them with Athos’ initial query. 

Porthos rolled his foot to gently tap a caution to Aramis before he replied. “Thought we might have seen some movement at one point, turned out to be nothing.”

“What?” The word was like a blade being drawn.

From his position Porthos couldn’t see Athos’ expression but he knew from the sound he’d turned to stare at Aramis who was stretched on the ground across from Athos. Aramis had lain braced on one arm and had frozen with his half-eaten plum blocking his mouth. Fortunately, he’d situated himself opposite to Athos with his head closer to the bank and that left his boots well within reach of Porthos’ legs.

He tapped at Aramis’ foot again and hoped his look signaled him to stay quiet. Porthos was still hoping to salvage their fragile peace. If they were able to stay on even ground until Chartres Porthos fully expected that a bed, wine, and fresh meal would provide the perfect setting to smooth this out.

Aramis gave a minute shrug and bit into his fruit. He kept his face angled towards Porthos, conceding for the moment. He pointedly did not look over at Athos.

“‘Bout two hours back,” Porthos started evenly.

“Two hours?” Again, the words were drawn out like steel.

Porthos sensed Athos twist before he saw the movement in his periphery. He ripped off a piece of bread and jammed it into his mouth before he bit out a response that would knock his plan off course. “Yeah.”

“And neither of you thought to inform me?” Athos had twisted his torso and balanced on his straightened right arm. He moved his gaze between the two of them clearly expecting an answer.

Porthos and Aramis continued their respective chewing and Aramis arched one brow at Porthos as he turned his fruit for another bite. Porthos shoved another hunk of bread into his mouth while he considered what to say. “Looked like an animal, not men.”

Athos had a way of archly asking you something. It was not overtly accusatory, but the tone would leave you feeling as though the most innocent actions were enough to convict you and he was only waiting for your own admission. “Yet never said a word. You two are withholding information now? On a mission?”

“What?” Porthos finally turned his head to meet the piercing gaze, but he’d already turned to level his accusing glare at Aramis. “No.”

The thwacking sound of Aramis’s doublet striking the ground echoed back from moments ago. An image of the vulture formed in Porthos’ mind as Aramis surged to a seated position from where he’d been flopped on his side. Porthos was surprised he’d managed to discard the core of his fruit on the ground rather hurling it at Athos. “Which of us is holding things back!” His eyes pinned on Athos as though he was sighting down a barrel. 

Athos said nothing. Porthos watched his profile and leaned forward in case he needed to get between them. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, the heat was cloying at this point and having witnessed the disloyalty of their attackers he was unnerved by their own minor fracturing.

Aramis shook his head, eager to air his frustration, but to his credit he wasn’t unleashing his full temper. Yet. “I thought I saw movement, but it seemed to be nothing. You wanted to move on, insistently, and we did.”

“You chose not to inform me.” Athos’ voice was blatant with accusation this time.

Predictably, to Porthos anyway, Aramis exploded. “You wouldn’t have listened!” Fortunately, it was verbal, though Porthos could see the strain of the lithe frame as Aramis braced his hands on his own thighs. At least he was gripping his own breeches rather than Athos’ leathers. “You haven’t listened to a word we’ve said!”

Athos regarded him with no discernable reaction on his features. “Complaints are not the same as information that impacts our mission.”

Aramis was on his feet and standing over Athos before either he or Porthos could even register the movement. “Complaints?” He accused as his eyes flashed. “I have more than one now that you’re close enough to bother hearing them! Or anything we say, for that matter, since now you’ve an interest.”

Porthos shook his head drawing his knees up and leaning against the trunk to observe as Athos lifted slowly to his own feet.

“I expect to be informed…” His stance and face were neutral, but his tone held that elevated quality that implied he expected to be heeded. “…of anything critical to reaching Desmarais’ estate.”

“It’s critical to rest the horses!” Aramis seethed, leaning into Athos’ space, but held his hands back clenching the air.

Athos merely raised a brow and flicked his eyes to their tethered mounts grazing nearby.

Porthos held back from rising when Aramis took a deep breath, but his voice was viciously civil, “And ourselves.”

“Take your rest then,” Athos tossed his uneaten pear over to Aramis who caught it on reflex, likely sparing him from being grabbed as he walked past, but he called back to them as he moved toward the stream. “We’ll leave for Chartres within the hour.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I can't help flipping between their present and Porthos' story. If you just want to read the "past" adventure you can stick to only the even numbered chapters. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Indulgent, were you?” Athos inquired. “How is it you think you and he indulgent when I was the one waiting on the both of you?”

“That’s what you object to?” D’Artagnan was nearly gaping at Athos’ closed lids and, of course, his minor objection. He’d been hanging on Porthos’ every word.

It was as though Athos ignored Porthos’ story entirely and fixated on the point he’d made before this newest portion of the tale.

While d’Artagnan wasn’t pleased to hear of his friends’ strife, it was peculiarly comforting to know that their seemingly impenetrable friendship was not without struggle. Most of their stories were recalled with mirth and laughter along with much fond teasing in their shared remembrance. Disharmony was not something d’Artagnan associated with or wished upon them, even if it had happened in the past.

Occasionally he felt their shared history weighted against him and that he needed to work more than they to share equally in the events that would become memories in the years ahead. He’d known that they were all imperfect – as every man is – in the abstract. D’Artagnan had witnessed their moods, learned their individual quirks, and even participated in their bickering, but it was another layer to peel back on a history he had no part of. In some ways the story was a reassurance that d’Artagnan could fit regardless of how much later he came to them.

Porthos tipped his head to the wall and took the deep breath of one who recognized the roundabout discussion that would lay ahead if he didn’t stop it. “I was indulgent.” He poked at Athos’ shoulder, “I indulged the two of you more than you’d earned at that point.”

Poking one brother, while supporting the other, Porthos turned to d’Artagnan for sympathy.

Their youngest just shook his head, capping the pot of salve. He gingerly replaced the linens and blankets to drape at the end of the bed. “Don’t look at me, that all sounds miserable.” He tucked the small pot on the floor by the bedpost before resuming his initial perch against it. “I’m guessing that wasn’t ‘the’ attack? I don’t see why you didn’t – ”

Athos shifted. “What did I say about interrupting?”

“Hey! No kicking.” Porthos ordered Athos.

D’Artagnan folded into a cross-legged position to remove the temptation for another light-hearted poke of Athos’ blanket-covered feet. “Why were you so agitated with them?” He asked without censure.

“They were at it since we left Paris, Aramis was even edgy when they sparred. And in that heat – ”

“He means me,” Athos said. He slid up a little on the pillows grimacing a bit as his side protested. He tugged the blankets higher, the chill of the room making its way into his unlaced shirt. “I was not agitated.” He paused at Porthos’ snort.

“I was not agitated; I was focused on making headway to the Baron’s land so we would have time to investigate his dealings.” His semi-unfocused gaze landed on d’Artagnan and reached blindly for the water cup on the bedside table. 

Before Porthos could contest the claim, d’Artagnan innocently asked, “In such heat? Surely you wouldn’t have pushed them so hard.”

Porthos snorted and Athos ignored it, again.

“The temperature was hardly unseasonable. He exaggerates.”

D’Artagnan sprung up to assist Athos, but not in time to catch the cup. Since it was empty of liquid there was no mess when the metal hit the floor. Athos twisted at the muffled sound and d’Artagnan couldn’t figure if he was confused at the sound or that he’d forgotten he’d reached for the cup at all. He took the opportunity to lean closer to get a better look at Athos’ face. He tilted his head considering the glower that was aimed at him, or that Athos attempted to aim at him, as Athos’ eyes landed somewhere on his shoulder and then looked beyond him before sliding back.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” D’Artagnan refilled the cup with water to soften the asking so it wouldn’t sound like an accusation since Athos was adamant that he was fine. He’d been saying that he was fine while wandering in the rain and bleeding down his side the day prior.

“What’s wrong?” Porthos asked.

“His eyes aren’t tracking easily.”

Athos sighed and downed the water in one gulp before thrusting the cup back to d’Artagnan and pointedly meeting his gaze. “I am fine.”

D’Artagnan’s brow went up as his mouth turned down.

“A bit tired, understandably so given the circumstances, but I will be fine.”

D’Atragnan folded his arms for both of them since Porthos’ arms were otherwise occupied. Aramis didn’t stir. Of course, if he were awake he’d outdo both d’Artagnan and Porthos in his insistence that Athos be looked after. Aramis always monitored them incessantly when he thought one of them had a concussion as lethargy was only one of the many concerns. D’Artagnan knew to look for signs of a number of them from having suffered himself, but others he gleaned from Aramis’ cautions.

He glanced to Porthos for support before insisting, “I’m sending for Corbeau.”

He ignored Athos’ insistence he could wait and opened the door to the soldiers assigned to them. He eyed Boucher who was lingering with those posted to the door. Bourdin and Boucher were following Porthos’ suggestion they stand by to act as runners for anything the recovering men might need, Gilles only somewhat excused due to his own injuries. D’Artagnan knew the men were only excused from Porthos’ wrath because he was preoccupied with Aramis and now Athos. He understood, he felt the same way, and d’Artagnan knew they’d be following up with the soldiers once Aramis – and now Athos – were more stable.

“There is no need,” Athos insisted.

D’Artagnan was already back at the bedside by the time Athos spoke. “There’s every need.”

“There’s nothing he can do.”

D'Artagnan ignored him. He also did not bother to comment that Athos seemed surprised to see him back, confusion was another symptom.

Athos slumped deeper into the pillows with a put-upon exhale. “If you insist.”

“We do.” Porthos confirmed.

“Or we’ll wake Aramis and have him tell you.” D’Artagnan threatened with Porthos’ story in mind.

Porthos snorted. “He needs the sleep more than you need a lecture, so you’re lucky there.” He glanced down at Athos. “But I’m sure the Captain’ll be happy to chat with you if we send for him.”

Athos turned to Porthos and attempted to look menacing, but the impact was lost since he was forced to close his eyes against the pain he’d ignited when he shifted his torso. He breathed deeply and said nothing.

Porthos didn’t comment either, knowing Dr. Corbeau would arrive soon, he’d let the physician deal with Athos.

D’Artagnan stretched his limbs before he sat in the chair facing the bed, “I wonder which of them would make the more convincing argument?” D’Artagnan teased. He folded his hands over his stomach, “Probably best not to aggravate Aramis or his injuries though. I still can’t believe he tried to kill you.”

“He didn’t.”

“He did.”

D’Artagnan eyed them both in turn.

“He wasn’t actually trying to kill you.”

“No, no. Clearly he was just trying to help.”

“He was!”

D’Artagnan cleared his throat and waited for them to focus again. “Sounds like you were all on edge. I still don’t understand why.” He was slightly unnerved, but they’d all survived and knew there was no genuine ill-will between the three.

“If I could’ve figured that out, I’d have stopped the whole mess from happening.”

“Instead you walked away.”

“Didn’t think you two couldn’t be trusted.”

“I was injured.”

“So was he.”

D’Artagnan interjected before they could spin around in another nonsensical debate over the past, “So you two were injured before he got angry enough to attack you?”

“He didn’t attack him.”

“Yes. He did.”

“It wasn’t an attack, he…”

“Was I covered in blood?”

“You were.” Porthos’ agreed, shaking his head at the memory.

“Knocked out?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Aramis was responsible for that?”

“Now yer twisting things.” Porthos addressed d’Artagnan then. “He didn’t attack.” 

“I was knocked out?”

“Yeah.”

“By Aramis’ hand?”

“Yeah, but he was trying to…”

“I assure you, it happened d’Artagnan.”

“Not the way you’re saying it did.”

“All right…I give up. Porthos?” D’Artagnan prompted.

“Yes. Porthos, please do keep weaving this tale.”

“Seeing as you’re confused, I’ll forgive you baiting the lad here.”

“Baiting?” With Athos’ delivery and dry wit it could sometimes be hard to interpret his intent.

“You know you’re teasing him with this ‘Aramis tried to kill me’ slant.”

“Because he did!” Athos cried out, a small smile following up his insistent outburst. “If you’re going to persist in telling him your unnecessarily lengthy account though, perhaps you’d best continue. Maybe we’ll even leave Chartres before Corbeau arrives?”

“If you two stop interrupting, maybe we will.” Porthos scolded. “Now…we’d just delivered the prisoners to Chartres…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜


	8. Chapter 8

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Monsieur Hemart outta be glad to see us.”

“To see our coin anyway,” Aramis inclined his head. “And the extra crowd your games might bring.”

“We’ll see, might try for a round or two.” Porthos always kept a lower profile when seeking games at their lodgings rather than surrounding taverns.

“No card tricks then?” Aramis winked and paused to let Porthos pass as the lane narrowed.

“Nah, his patrons aren’t the right crowd for it.” Porthos glanced back as much to avoid the late afternoon sun’s glare as to address him. He waited to speak again for Aramis to draw his horse alongside. “‘Sides, between Hemart and Athos best keep things fair.”

Aramis pushed out a breath that Porthos chose not to interpret as the derisive snort it was. His tone was more difficult to dismiss. Aramis kept his eyes on the path before them, “While we need to keep Monsieur Hemart favorable to us, I will not adjust my behavior to suit Athos’ favor.”

Porthos gritted his teeth and only marginally kept himself from rolling his eyes.

They frequented Hemart’s lodgings whenever they were in Chartres and Porthos made a point of not using any of his creative dealing methods on their fellow patrons that might tarnish their welcome. Even without his larger gambles Porthos’ company generally proved irresistible to Hemart’s locals who came by for drinking and entertainment rather than for rooms. The establishment was quieter than most and held a quiet garden out back as well as providing stabling for a small fee. He also kept a small bathhouse that Porthos was eager to make use of.

“I thought we just agreed to let that go.” Porthos was tired, he ached, and he was doing his best to level out the rising tension between his best friends. Athos remained behind to provide further details once the three of them had delivered their prisoners. He had thought separating them would dissipate any remaining strain, but it was becoming clear Aramis was still chafing against the notion of reconciling. Porthos just wanted to wash, drink, play a few hands of cards and eat, in any order; Aramis, apparently, wanted to keep picking at Athos.

“You proposed an option, I neither agreed nor disagreed, my friend.”

Porthos could’ve kicked him.

“Something’s got at him and it doesn’t sit well with me either, but you know he’s not tellin’ us anything ‘til he’s ready.” Porthos tried to reason as they ambled closer to their intended lodgings.

“He may be as easily ready this evening as tomorrow,” Aramis persisted as they arrived before their inn for the evening.

Porthos swung down from the saddle, keeping an eye for Hermat’s stableboy, Nicolas. “Just let him alone, will you?”

Aramis peered down at him. “Me? Porthos, whatever this is he’ll only brood if we don’t get to the root of it and better sooner than later.” Aramis dropped down from his own saddle as though his insistence settled it between them.

Normally Porthos was content to let Aramis follow his instinct when he felt so strongly, but after the day they all had Porthos’ own instincts were telling him this was all best left alone for the evening.

“He tends to brood,” Porthos said, “part of his charm, eh?”

“Yes, it’s decidedly his moodiness that endears him.” Aramis didn’t resist rolling his eyes. 

“Monsieur Aramis! Monsieur Porthos!” A mass of sandy curls flopped over Nicolas’ eyes as he ran over heedless of the cloying heat. “Are you staying long? Passing through? Do you need a meal? A room? Should I stable your horses?”

“Easy there.” Porthos laughed. “We’re stayin’ the night and Athos is with us. We’ll be needing a wash too.” Fortunately access to Hermat’s bathing facilities came with the room, another perk they all enjoyed as there were those in France that charged for every amenity. He wasn’t sure if they owed it to their regiment or it was provided to all patrons, but Porthos was too grateful to ever question it. 

Nicolas looked delighted, “We’ve only got one left, but I’ll make sure it’s yours! Monsiuer Hermat’s just gone to…”

“Just the one?” Aramis queried.

“Yes.” Nicolas nodded firmly, clearly pleased he could offer it to them. “It’s got two beds, though I could check if we’ve a spare palliasse. We had a lot of travelers stopping from the heat today.”

Aramis arched an eyebrow at Porthos.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I was all for stopping.” Porthos said as he passed his reins to the boy. 

“André is inside, he’ll tell Cecile and Feliz to prepare the room and bath.”

“Cecile and Feliz?” Aramis asked with a new lightness to his voice.

Porthos couldn’t believe the quickness of the turn in temper, considering the awful heat and how tired they were. Then again, Aramis’ standing as an inveterate charmer was hardly new.

“Yes, Monsieur Hermat took them on last month.” Nicolas confirmed.

Aramis handed over his reins before patting Porthos on the shoulder. “A bath and a bed prepared by two lovely women? This evening may be salvaged yet.”

“Athos should be along soon.” Porthos winked at Nicolas and watched him lead their horses to the stable for a moment before turning to corral his friend himself.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Mademoiselle…?” They had lingered in the common room indulging in a drink before settling in so there’d been no sign of anyone when they went to their room. There was someone preparing the bath, however, when they arrived at the small room at the back of the building.

“Madame.” The older woman corrected him once she turned.

Porthos didn’t snicker but it was a near thing.

“Ah forgive me.” Aramis’ manners would not be deterred even if his desire was. “Nicolas mentioned the recent arrival of Cecile and Feliz. I should not have presumed.”

“I am Feliz.” She stated crossing her thick arms. “Cecile is my daughter.” She said the last while eyeing Aramis and Porthos pointedly. When she was satisfied that they took her meaning she eyed the space again, and took stock that they’d have whatever they needed. “If you need more water you can pull it in from…”

“We’ve stayed before, we’ll be fine.” Porthos assured taking the half-filled bucket from her. “Thank you, Madame.”

She gave a sharp nod and another warning glance to Aramis as she left the room.

“Well, she seems lovely.” Aramis said blithely.

“Best get you cooled off.” Porthos was unlacing his shirt, unaided by the fact that it was like a second skin between the heat and leather all day. They’d taken their outer layers off already in preparation for bathing and brought spare linens to change after.

Aramis had already thrown his own shirt overhead and turned to the washbowl on the small side table to take a first pass at wiping down. When in haste they’d all make do but generally Aramis insisted on washing off before a bath; no sense soaking in your own filth. Porthos agreed with the principle when possible, but he’d just as soon jump in to feel the cool relief after hours of itching from sweat. They were both soaked through from the day’s trials and Porthos wasn’t one to object.

The stone floor was quickly covered in a pile of linen and leather. Porthos hadn’t even gotten down to his small clothes before Aramis was already sunk into the large tub.

“Much better,” with an idle scratch through freshly dampened chest hair, Aramis proclaimed, “we are stopping here on the return.” Before Porthos could respond he dropped under the surface relishing the cool water. When he resurfaced, he titled his head back and wished for more of a breeze through the open shutters.

The window opened on the corner of the garden behind the building and along the back of the small stable Hermat kept. There was a smaller storage shed that blocked the room from view of the rest of the outside affording bathing patrons concealment and access to the small private well. It was a luxury few lodgings provided, and one Aramis never failed to make use of whenever they found themselves overnighting in Chartres.

“Let’s get through tonight first, yeah?” Porthos moved over to the window to refill the bucket so he could finish his own quick rinse before submerging himself in the bath.

The water sloshed loudly against the background of the early evening sounds outside. Even the birds were silenced by the stifling weather and the sense of energy normally present in a city seemed to still. “Let him keep his own counsel then, but I am not spending another day risking ourselves or the horses.” Aramis turned to address Porthos and folded his arms along the edge of the tub.

“More danger to us from those men than that.” He kicked at the haphazardly discarded leather of Aramis’ long boots strewn on the floor.

“Exactly!” The water sloshed again as Aramis surged up from where he’d rested his chin on his arms and braced them straighter against the side.

Porthos raised a brow and moved over to deposit the bucket next to the tub, he eyed Aramis as he dragged a low stool over between the tub and the window frame.

“We might not have been at risk if I’d been able to identify them earlier.” He sunk down on his arms again, unwilling to spoil his respite despite wanting to continue expressing his displeasure.

“You didn’t know.” Porthos assured as he took a seat and began a quick clean of his shirt and stockings.

“Had we not been so…distracted,” he emphasized the word after he chose it, “I might have.” 

“You could’ve told him.” Porthos shrugged. 

“He wasn’t listening!” Aramis dragged his fingers through his damp hair before gesturing at Porthos. “You didn’t think it was anything either. And now he accuses us of keeping things from him?” Aramis frowned. 

“Thought it was animals.” Porthos shared a look with his friend. “Heh, guess they were in a way.”

Aramis angled his head on his forearm, scrubbing his damp beard along before watching Porthos reach for his stockings. He slid his gaze to his own dark stockings flung in a pile by the corner table. Porthos discerned Aramis’ thoughts without turning away from where he’d bent slightly to rinse the thin fabric in the bucket between his feet. 

“M’not your washerwoman.”

“No,” Aramis dragged the word out like pulling on your sleeve in a way that might just as easily lead you along as tumble you over, “but you are my most excellent and dearest friend?”

“And you think gettin’ me to wash your dirty socks will keep you as mine?” Porthos asked as he wrung out his own.

“Were I not already in the tub I would certainly offer the same to you.” Aramis wheedled. “And they are too far for me to reach. Besides, you’re already done with your own and…”

Porthos didn’t bother pointing out that Aramis had flung his clothing in all directions before flinging himself into the bath first.

“Fine.” Porhos sighed and leant back to grab them. “But you want your shirt or braies done, you do ‘em yourself or hire it out.”

“You’ve my deepest thanks.” Aramis beamed.

“Yeah well you’d only forget and then they’d be stinkin’ up the room tonight.” Porthos teased as he dunked the offending fabric in the bucket. The heatwave would break eventually.

“Perhaps if we smell enough Athos will provide a rest out of self-preservation?” Aramis offered.

“Or he’ll just ride ahead and upwind?” Porthos wrung out the Aramis’ pair and lay them over the window ledge to dry. He’d take them back to the room to finish drying when he got out of his own bath later.

Aramis smiled and chuffed a small laugh as he turned. He spread his arms and addressed Porthos from upside down. “Let him. Maybe some distance is best. He’s ignoring us anyway when he’s not accusing us of something.” Aramis considered a moment as he settled. “I’m going out for a bit before supper.”

“Aramis.” Porthos warned. Given his brother’s mood he wasn’t sure if he wanted a little of that space before they supped together or to seek out some mischief or other to distract himself.

“To church!” Aramis protested sensing the direction of Porthos’ thoughts.

“Fine then,” Porthos said moving to stow the bucket and stool to the side and grabbed a large cloth for himself. “Get yer scrawny rear moving,” he ordered before starting on the laces of his smalls, “I’m gonna be hungry when I get out.”

Aramis smirked up at him but got up. He sprang out heedless of water dripping off him in every direction and made to get his own linen to dry.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Aramis estimated as he tugged his breeches back up.

“Or so?” Porthos frowned at him as he settled himself.

“I thought you’d prefer it to a side of violence with your venison stew.” Aramis offered innocently as he fiddled with his braces.

“Don’t mention stew in this weather.” Porthos mumbled, looking forward to a plate of meat and cheese over a thick heated meal. “And leave off him, will you? It’s not worth arguing.”

Clothing set to right Aramis began to protest and Porthos was afraid he’d reignited his temper. “I am not the one who…nevermind. Fine. So long as he keeps a civil tongue, then I’ll leave him to his choleric mood.” Aramis deposited his used washcloths into the basket by the door. “We will not let it ruin our evening.”

Porthos nodded hesitant to agree or believe this was the end of it for either man, but he wasn’t about to drag out the debate if Aramis was willing to put it to rest.

“I shall see you at dinner then.” With an overly flourished bow Aramis exited.

“Hey you forgot…” Porthos wondered if the lump of shirt and braies tangled on the floor were inadvertently or intentionally forgotten. He sunk deeper in the bathwater and blew out a flurry of bubbles. 

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

Aramis was still hopeful the evening would cool down as he made his way up the narrow stairwell that provided discreet access to the washroom for lodgers staying on the second floor. He plucked his hat off the mattress and left his leathers open. Before he exited, he decided to open the window in their room banking on the evening to bring a slight breeze or anything that might disperse the stifling atmosphere. Looking down he noticed Athos seated at a barrel made table in the courtyard. Drinking already. Drinking alone.

A vindictive part of him wanted to march downstairs and confront him while Porthos was still sat in the bath. The kinder part of him, the bit of him that noticed the tension holding his friend up despite the melting heat, wanted to offer an opportunity to explain. Between the two conflicting instincts he avoided a fleeting temptation to toss the washing bowl or pitcher on his friend below. Leaving things alone, as Porthos suggested, he made his way down the hall to the wider staircase and through the common room to the street.

It was a ten-minute walk to the cathedral, but Aramis took his time and appreciated the miniscule coolness afforded by the Eure River as he crossed the Taillard Bridge. He tipped his hat to the few people he passed as he wound his way and tried to settle his flickering emotions. Something still niggled at him from the morning – had it only been today that Treville ordered them on this mission?

His thoughts alighted from meditative to frustration to outright affronted at Athos’ temperament. All men had secrets, he himself kept a trove of them, but he rarely pushed his discontent on his brothers. It had taken some time to be folded into Athos’ confidence and now that they’d obtained it Aramis bristled when they came up against something that closed him off from them. He understood Porthos’ inclination that this was a fleeting shift in their friend, prone to melancholy as he was, and was tempted to let it alone. However, Aramis trusted his intuition on this that it was deeper rooted than mere irritation at traveling in the heat to deal with Louis’ inconsistent favor towards his nobles.

As the gothic spires came into view Aramis let himself give over to the tranquility he often found in churches. Most were awed with the massive stained-glass array of lancet windows, and the rose windows, or the relic of the Virgin kept here and Aramis was among them, but tonight he wanted the peace of a more accessible reflection of faith. Despite churches being much cooler than other buildings the nave was sparsely populated.

He kept his steps light as he approached the two-toned stone pathway pleased that it was empty. Twisting his hat through his ungloved fingers he tracked his eyes along the winding path and kept his head bent as he turned. Only one path towards center. As someone who was constantly questioning where he was and where he could be, he needed the simple rigidity tonight, the singular line to follow towards an end. 

And yet, part of him just wanted to stride into the circular center, to skip over the winding layers and get to the heart of the thing. He wanted to stand in that isolated spot and let the frustration ebb from him at the same time he wanted to express his anger befitting the fabled minotaur that some claimed once graced that circle. Instead he forced himself to patience, as many did within these walls, and suppressed his questioning for the chance at grace washing over him in its stead. As he turned again, close to the center but knowing this next turn would wind him farther away once more from the end goal, he clenched his jaw.

“It is generally advisable to use the labyrinth to clear the mind.” A voice rose from behind him and Aramis wondered if he’d been so focused on his steps that he’d missed another taking up the path in his periphery.

Aramis paused ready to move out of the narrow path to let someone else pass if they were so irritated with his meagre progress. When he saw the priest standing within the embellished space of his goal he tried to clear his face of any reaction.

“You seem quite troubled.” The priest offered.

Aramis sighed not wanting to add shouting at a holy man to his eclectic collections of sins. “Merely reflecting.”

“One does not always have to reach the intended end to achieve clarity.”

Aramis was once more tempted to stomp into the center. “And if I’m prone towards completion?”

“I may wait here to meet you.” The priest answered.

Aramis debated on the likelihood of achieving calm by finishing the singular walk against merit of talking to the man. In the end he shifted his hat to one hand and sloped over to the circular medallion at the center. “Perhaps you have the right of it, I am too unsettled to solve it with this.”

If the priest was surprised Aramis had strayed off the path, he didn’t display it on his face. “Sometimes it’s better to address the root cause rather than wander around the matter.”

Aramis arched a brow.

“There are many pathways to truth and yours does not seem a holy matter as much as one more secular?” The priest ventured.

Aramis would later admit to himself that he felt slightly ridiculous ‘confessing’ to a priest that he was at odds with his brother and was unable to let go of his continuing anger. However, Aramis was not overly upset in expressing his feelings to the clergyman as he was reaching an irrational point given his frustration over the events of the day.

“I suppose you might say I’ve quarreled with my brother?” Aramis offered, knowing that didn’t encapsulate it by half.

“And you feel justified in your upset with him?” At Aramis’ surprised look he continued. “You came here to try to abate that fury?”

“How did you come to know I feel justified in it?” Aramis wondered aloud.

“Simply that most people do.”

Aramis felt a need to contextualize further. “It is as much concern for him as annoyance with him. Yet he accused me of…” Aramis trailed off at the indulgent expression that met his own troubled defense of himself.

“Through which you have hurt each other?”

Aramis breathed out sharply. “He was not the wounded party.” Aramis resisted scrubbing at his neck when he looked over at the priest. “That is, he tends to dismiss – well, we look at things differently you might say.”

The priest smiled and brushed at his immaculate sleeve. “It is not uncommon to feel such for family.”

“We’re not brothers,” Aramis again felt compelled to explain himself once more, “not by blood, that is.”

“Yet you love him as one?”

“Better than my own.” Aramis hadn’t meant for that to slip out. He didn’t bother clarifying the half relation in that case.

The elder man opposite merely chuckled. “A universal secret, I think. Many of us find family outside those we are born to.”

Aramis nodded, trying to reflect on how often he’d required relief from his own restless thoughts and sat with the very man he now felt uncompromising irritation with. Many times, he’d laid out his troubles to an unjudging companion. Even when Athos did voice a pointed opinion when Aramis ignored the advisement to his own detriment Athos still never refused him the next time he was sought out. He suddenly felt the weight of uncharity despite not wanting to cede the matter entirely.

The older man witnessing Aramis’ internal debating finally broke into his thoughts, “In this case possibly ‘Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance’ might be the best pathway? Better than meandering here to resolve your disagreement.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Aramis said. “Am I to be assigned penance as well for this confession?”

“Hmm, seeing as I interrupted your reflection and prevented your meditation…I think we might consider this a shared discussion?”

Aramis laughed softly and accepted that. “And if I should be in need of such counsel again, Father…?”

“Bonneval” Father Bonneval clasped his hands together and said. “You are welcome to seek me any time.”

“Then I guess it’s best I seek my brothers now.” Aramis noted the changing light through the colored windows. “Thank you, Father.”

Father Bonneval offered, “I’ll say a prayer for you then.”

“You might need several in that case.” Aramis smiled. “Good evening.”

As he exited the cathedral Aramis tilted his head skyward, casually asking God to grant him serenity or at least enough patience not to strangle his beloved brother. Amen.

⚜⚜⚜⚜


	9. Chapter 9

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“So…Athos drove Aramis to go to church?” D’Artagnan was even more confused now. Although he wasn’t surprised, their friend was as often praying as teasing as shooting as romancing. In all seriousness though it didn’t surprise him that Aramis would be troubled by discord. He wasn’t any further surprised that Athos had ensconced himself drinking alone. 

“If only.” Athos muttered. “That seems rather convenient, hmm? You weren’t with him. How do you know all this?”

D’Artagnan wanted to know that too, of the three of them Athos was the least likely to embellish a tale whereas between the other two it wasn’t always clear. Lord help the man listening to a tale told by the two of them: Porthos and Aramis were prone to garnishing a story in different ways. “Seems like that priest might have just been Aramis debating with himself.”

“No, Father Bonneval is real.” D’Artagnan shifted to look Athos in the eye as he spoke. “And very pleasant.”

“Yeah, he’s real. We both met him.” Porthos confirmed. “And several times after. Next time we’re through Chartres I’m sure Aramis’ll take you over there. The labyrinth is actually interesting.”

Porthos glanced down at the sleeping man, his back was starting to twinge but he didn’t want to disturb him. He was growing concerned with how deeply Aramis was asleep but given the extent of his injuries it made sense that his body was lost to exhaustion. If there were no more nightmares Porthos was content to leave him to his rest. He wriggled experimentally and was glad that he was able to adjust enough to relieve his aches without waking Aramis.

“And the rest?” Athos asked swinging himself to face Porthos as they were nearly level now that Porthos had resettled. “I suppose I owe you my thanks for preventing my murder with pottery?”

“Pretty sure he was joking about that,” Porthos said.

“And strangulation?” Athos eyed d’Artagnan. “I ask you: which of the two of us sounds the more homicidal from Porthos’ fanciful imaginings?”

Porthos laughed heartily, “Fanciful? After everything you two put me through.” He shook his head smiling good naturedly over at his bedmate.

“Most of this was based on what Aramis told you?” D’Artagnan speculated.

“You were sitting out in the courtyard alone.” Porthos said to Athos who nodded in turn. “We’ve talked about this a few times over the years. Aramis underplays his guilt if anything, so I believe him on that – plus I asked Bonneval once.” Porthos winked over at d’Artagnan. “And I was with him in the bath so all that’s the honest truth.”

“I believe he got you to do his laundry.” Athos said in a flat voice.

Porthos laughed. “Yeah, he did.” Porthos smiled with fondness at the memory rather than the annoyance one might expect.

“Hold on,” d’Artagnan interjected. “You washed the rest of it? When he just left it there?”

Athos and Porthos were fully aware d’Artagnan would have never. He’d have been more likely to throw the remaining clothes out into the yard, not out of malice, but none of them could picture him indulging them on it if they were able-bodied.

“Yeah, well,” Porthos sighed, “I still had my own smalls to tend after the bath. Pretty sure Feliz would’ve stomped his things as soon as washed ‘em if I asked her. Besides I figured it might go a little way towards calming him down. Trust me, facing down a week with these two in scorching heat and dealing with a likely irate baron? On balance I figured a little washing was going to be worth it.”

“No one did my laundering.” Athos grumbled.

“You saying you’d have improved your mood if I had?” Porthos accused.

D’Artagnan waited a beat for a response, when none came, he tried to clarify further. “If Aramis really did speak with that priest then he came back calmer?”

Athos scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Hey, he tried.” Porthos argued lightly.

“For a moment, perhaps.”

Porthos sighed, “You going to say that you tried?”

Athos paused, “I could have been a bit more…indulgent.” Athos smirked.

“Before you left Chartres, it wasn’t resolved?” D’Artagnan was surprised they’d ride out still at odds. 

As Athos settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes; Porthos and d’Artagnan shared an indulgent look of their own.

“I’m confused, when exactly did Aramis try – ”

D’Artagnan was interrupted with Corbeau’s arrival. Gaudet followed directly after.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” Dr. Corbeau moved to Athos’ side of the bed and glanced at the sleeping musketeer. “Boucher tells me we’re needed?”

“I didn’t mean for them to wake you too.” D’Artagnan implied apology to the medic from Toulouse.

“Already up, habit.” The man said. “I’ve got to head back, may as well look over my stitching and patients before I depart.”

“You’re leaving today?” Porthos was grateful for the man’s aid and knew he had his own duties to return to, but he was loathe to have only one physician looking after Aramis and now Athos.

“I’ve got to get back to my own regiment,” Gaudet stated with a hint of regret. “Mathieu d’Ambly is enlisted here as surgeon and we will fill him in on Aramis – and Athos – before I leave. He can take over their care alongside Claude.”

Dr. Claude Corbeau leaned down towards Athos. “Before that, let’s get an updated understanding of their condition.”

Athos raised his right arm over his face and his palm blocked his left eye, but he peered at Corbeau with the right one. “I am fine. Small aches from the wound.”

“And confused.” D’Artagnan added.

“Has he been?” Corbeau asked without looking away from Athos’ line of sight.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Quite a bit.” D’Artagnan assured.

“Your eyes, well your eye is drifting a bit.” Corbeau said. “Lower your arm, please.”

Athos looked like he might decline but relented with a slow exhale. “I’ve been a little dizzy.”

“Have you? Since when?” Corbeau was peering at him intently and reached out to feel along his scalp.

“When I was pulled from my horse.” Athos admitted, which was a clear sign to the other two his thoughts were disordered as they knew he would never have disclosed that otherwise. He’d admitted momentary dizziness the day before, he’d not told them it was continuous.

“Shhhh.” Athos whispered out over their overlapping exclamations at this news.

“Any reason you didn’t tell us this yesterday?” Gaudet asked. He had inquired with Athos about his health several times while stitching his side.

“There were more pressing concerns.” Athos could practically feel the irritation at this distance from Porthos. “I didn’t realize.” He hissed and pushed back into the pillows to escape the doctor’s probing.

“Well that’s you not leaving this bed now, isn’t it?” Porthos insisted.

“I am hardly incapacitated.”

Corbeau interjected, “I would concur, Porthos. You may be all right to move around a little with aid, Athos, but you cannot leave this room. Now lift your shirt so we can examine your side.”

Athos didn’t move, he seemed stunned at the doctor’s decision. Claude bypassed his immobility and lifted the loose linen himself and began undoing the bandage. “At least there’s been no bleed through. Did you sleep last night?”

“Hmm? Oh. Mostly.”

“Aramis had a,” d’Artagnan hesitated.

“Had a flashback or a nightmare, memories?” Porthos disclosed. “Nearly clawed his neck open in the early hours, we salved it and rebandaged.”

Claude eyed the thicker bandaging around the sleeping man’s neck. “I see. Gaudet, would you?”

The other man moved to take a closer look. “Has he woken since?”

“No.” D’Artagnan interjected more confidently. “I reapplied the balm to his feet and calves. It looks like his knees might have…bled overnight?”

Gaudet nodded and motioned to Porthos to draw back the covers.

“This looks irritated.” Corbeau had uncovered Athos' stitched wound and was eyeing the pinkened skin. “I have a mixture we might try, but we may need to drain this.”

Athos looked pale.

“You think you’d have to reopen it?” Porthos asked.

Athos shivered in the chilly room and d’Artagnan was reminded to restoke the fire, “Pour some wine on it?”

“You’ll sacrifice wine to avoid that, huh?” Porthos teased.

“We may yet do both.” Corbeau stated. “I’ll send you the ointment when we finish this, apply it thickly along here.” Corbeau pointed out making sure both d’Artagnan and Porthos watched. “I’m happy to do so myself, and I’ll return shortly, but I want to research a few options this morning.”

“We can take care of that.” D’Artagnan assured him. “I have the recipe for my mother’s salve I wrote out the ingredients last night if you want to make that as well.”

“Thank you, yes.” Claude had listened when d’Artagnan espoused it when they initially found Aramis. Now that they were able to acquire ingredients, he was happy to compound it. “You are not to leave this bed except for relieving yourself or to sit in that chair for a bit if you like. No more than that.”

Athos, having seen the darkening edges around the cut to his side didn’t object. 

Corbeau looked between Porthos and d’Artagnan. “Keep this uncovered. He can wear the shirt, if he wishes, but as soon as the salve absorbs enough to feel the linen you are to reapply. Otherwise, if you can tolerate it Athos, leave it entirely uncovered. Gaudet?”

The other man was eyeing the bandaging along Aramis’ back where Porthos had rucked up his shirt for the man. “A few spots where he’s bled. You might need to soak this off later, but it will keep for a bit.”

“His neck?” Corbeau asked as he rounded the bed. “It stopped bleeding? He didn’t do much damage?”

“Think we stopped him before he could, that’s why we thickened the bandaging – keep him from getting at it.” Porthos offered. “And it was easier for him to eat this way.” He offered by way of explaining how Aramis had come to be sleeping half atop Porthos.

Gaudet smiled at him. “Whatever keeps him from pain. He managed to eat?”

“Broth. And little porridge? We figured that would be okay since he kept the broth down yesterday and this morning.”

“Yes. That’s fine.” Corbeau confirmed.

“The puncture wounds under his chin were bleeding this morning, but he cleaned them himself.” D’Artagnan offered. “He got them to stop with some pressure from a damp cloth.”

“Himself?” Gaudet asked.

Porthos reflexively drew his arms a little tighter. “He’s a bit cautious about letting anyone near his neck.”

Neither medic asked, nor tried to examine the wounds there more closely. They’d both worked with soldiers long enough to understand some wounds, even if less life-threatening than others, were more concerning to the patient.

Corbeau leaned in and Porthos tensed ready to object to Aramis’ neck being probed. The physician rested his hand to Aramis’ forehead though. “A little warm, but that ought to be expected.”

Gaudet had moved down to peek at the knees where d’Artagnan had thought he’d bled. He gingerly moved the open legs of his smalls to avoid disturbing the fabric if it was clinging to open skin. “Hmm, you’ll need to soak these off here. You’ve been applying enough salve to the lower legs, but I’ll help you get these loose.”

As Gaudet moved off to fill a small bowl with water, Corbeau continued his assessment. “I do want to have a look at his leg and the burn on his ribs, but I think that can wait until we’ve filled in d’Ambly. If he’s sleeping this deeply, I’d rather he rests a bit longer.”

As the other man returned, he motioned d’Artagnan over and began to soak sections of the fabric to get it to separate from the knees. Aramis didn’t stir.

“Would it be better to do his leg now?” Porthos asked.

“No, that would definitely wake him.” Corbeau declared. “If I need to debride or reopen a wound, I’d like to do that with d’Ambly and after Aramis has had the benefit of further rest.”

“That’s all I can do for him for now.” Gaudet said. D’Artagnan and he finished tending the last sore spots and left the smalls in their rolled-up position. “I do wish we’d met under better circumstances, and please tell Aramis I wish him a quick recovery.”

“Thank you, for everything.” Athos spoke up for all of them. Regardless of what transpired in the coming days, the man had given their brother every chance at a recovery. They had all been there when he and Corbeau had worked for hours to save Aramis’ life and there was not sufficient gratitude to express what he’d done for Aramis and for all of them.

The enlisted medic moved to shake each of their hands and Corbeau followed him to exit. Before he let go of Athos’ hand he ordered, “No wandering about. I’ll be updating Treville, you lads look after him.” He addressed the latter to Porthos and d’Artagnan, Athos resisted contradicting him in deference to the man’s efforts with Aramis.

D’Artagnan handed his list of ingredients and directions to Corbeau and listened to a quick review of the instructions regarding Athos’ injury before seeing both men to the door. He snagged some bread on the way back and set himself on the bed’s edge to wait for one of the men to bring the salve back for Athos.

To lift the mood while they waited d’Artagnan asked, “Nobody attempted to kill the other before you left Chartres?” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜


	10. Chapter 10

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Porthos was still damp from the bath when he made his way to the common room and found Athos tucked into a corner table. Athos was settled in with wine, but he had no meal or any remnants of one in front of him. Porthos was pleased that there were two glasses on the worn wood table, aside from the one Athos was drinking from.

Athos had his head tilted slightly back to the wall as he took his next sip. His selected table had a window alongside it to Athos’ left which was open to the evening air. Porthos moved towards the wall to Athos’ right and took the chair against it to face out into the room. From that angle he could also keep watch for Aramis’ return.

Porthos’ hand hovered over Athos’ doublet where it’d been lain over the chair he intended to sit on. Athos tilted his chin in acknowledgment but said nothing as Porthos moved it and sat. He did pour a glass for his friend and slid it over.

“How’d it turn out with them?” Porthos asked before taking a swallow. He was hungry but determined that they break bread together and put this all to rest. He knew his brothers well enough to sense whatever was brewing wouldn’t be overcome with just a meal, but he would not let this fester if he could help it.

“They are going back for the others. Our assailants will be held pending further investigation, their attack on us is enough to convict them to imprisonment at the least.”

Athos eyed a point in the distance, across the expanse of patrons and tables, “You’re uneasy with my decisions?”

“Gotta admit you were a bit,” Porthos paused, “single-minded out there today.”

“We have a mission.” Athos persisted.

Porthos just looked at him.

“I may have been a bit overzealous,” Athos offered. “You think Aramis’ reaction to that proportional?”

Porthos shrugged.

He didn’t want to take sides in this, there existed an unspoken agreement not to interfere with each other’s disagreements. This seemed more than a difference of opinion or simply friendly irritation of familiar faults. The whole matter felt poignant and serious yet over blown and superficial all at once. “Couldn’t say either way what’s got the two of you irritated. I think we put the blame on the heat and be done with it.”

He raised his brow and waited on Athos to acquiesce. When the man said nothing he sat back and folded his arms. “Unless there’s some other reason you’re not saying?”

Athos rolled his empty glass between his fingers fixing his eyes on the cluster of candles stuck to their table. He refilled his glass and silently queried if Porthos would like more. Pouring at Porthos’ nod, he agreed, “If he can keep himself civil, then we’ll leave it there.”

Porthos full belly laughed at that and downed his wine. He extended the glass back to Athos indicating another refill as his shoulders shook.

“What?” Athos asked, but refilled the glass anyway.

Porthos smiled at him, his exasperation overtaken by affection. He’d been trying to keep them ‘civil’ all day and he’d had the two of them demanding it of the other without wanting to give themselves. “Nothing.”

“Fine then.”

“All right.” Porthos inclined his glass at him and took this drink more slowly. He twisted to look across the tables to eye the entry. “Hope he’s back soon, I’m starving.”

Athos glanced over and then back to Porthos. “We are clear his nocturnal activities included supping with us?”

“Hey now, we agreed to put all that aside.” Porthos covetously eyed the neighboring tables’ spreads. “He said he’d be back.”

“Everything in his own time.” Athos murmured airily.

“He only went to the cathedral.” Porthos defended.

“Oh?” Athos draped himself back into his seat. “Confessing his sins, is he?” He picked slightly at the old candle drippings in the grooves of the tabletop.

“Athos.” Porthos warned.

“Yes, yes.” Athos smiled minutely. “It’s the heat…”

Porthos eyed him over his glass. “Mmmhmm.”

They continued drinking in silence as the candles burned lower. Porthos retrieved a bottle from André and hinted they’d be wanting a spread of meats and cheeses and fruits as soon as Aramis was back. The balding man, nearly half Porthos’ height, had tiredly nodded an assurance.

“Think his wine’s any good?” Porthos asked sometime later, interrupting the comfortable silece.

“Hemart generally procures – ”

Porthos looked over from where he was idly turning cards splayed across half the table. “Not this one,” Porthos nodded at the bottle they were sharing. “Baron Desmarais.’ That’s what’s got him excommunicated isn’t it?”

“Excommunication might have been kinder to him, between Richelieu and the king I’m sure it could be managed.” Athos turned slightly towards Porthos. “Dérogeance only stirps him of the privileges of nobility, but not his rank. He’s minor nobility to begin with; he’ll likely be insufferable.”

Porthos bit his lip considering it. “Think he’ll give us problems about the taxes?”

“Who knows,” Athos shrugged, “engaging in the wine trade may have proved worth it to him.”

“Guessing he won’t be wanting to provide a sample then?”

Athos eyed him over his glass. “Maybe we can confiscate some.”

“Captain did ask us to see what we could find out.” Porthos said.

One corner of Athos’ mouth crept up, “I’m not certain he meant imbibing for investigation.”

“Call it being thorough?” Porthos suggested as his eyes moved over the room. “Now though, let’s eat.” He raised his glass to signal Aramis over.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Their light meal wound up a pleasant enough affair. Porthos was content to let the heat be culpable for that lull too, at least the tension wasn’t as thick in the air while they ate.

“Trying to convince us?” Aramis said across the table. He’d wound up at Athos’ left since the only other chair was already occupied with Athos’ discarded jacket. He was half draped in his own seat, lazily selecting pieces of cheese and salted meats.

Porthos ran his eyes over the cards abandoned near Athos’ doublet. If he thought for a moment – a single _moment_ – it would ensure peaceable relations he’d agree that he’d left them there for that purpose and not idle abandonment in favor of food. He didn’t want to risk a game with them that might upset their fragile calm.

“Nah, too hot for much than this.” Porthos emphasized the statement by plucking up more slices from the platter to add to his chunk of bread.

Aramis raised his glass in a mock salute.

Athos broke their quiet exchange, “I want to make Desmarais’ tomorrow.”

Aramis planted his glass firmly on the table and eyed his brother; he was committed to patience, but it was fraying.

“Surely Melleray or Vibraye?” Aramis offered, trying to ‘bear with’ Athos. “They’re approximately the same as our travels today.”

“Which was delayed; we left Paris barely before noon. We will leave earlier tomorrow and ride longer.” 

“I thought,” Aramis kept his voice even, “we agreed we would take more frequent rests owing to the heat.”

“We will.” Athos flicked his eyes to him before fixing on the swirling the remaining wine in his glass. “And if we avoid maladroit handling of information we won’t run into further delays.”

“Athos.” Porthos chastised, but it was too late to stem the spark of anger his words ignited.

“Maladroit? You would accuse…” Aramis paused and glanced at Porthos, but whether it was for support or to soothe his own temper was not clear. 

“No, I would say.” Athos looked at him plainly.

“Athos, for the love I bear you, I will let that pass.” Aramis grabbed his glass and swallowed his remaining wine before rising and bracing both hands on the table. “But I warn you not to say such again.” 

Porthos resisted burying his head in his hands and folded them across his chest instead.

“Apologies, I am not the best company tonight it seems.” Athos, to his credit, did look slightly regretful at Aramis’ departing figure.

“No. You’re not.” Porthos insisted. He deflated after a moment, “I’ll talk to him. Think you can ease off a bit tomorrow?”

“We still have – ”

“Yeah, yeah, and nobody’s forgetting our assignment. Only asking that we try to be ‘civil’ to each other.” Porthos flung Athos’ words back to him, Aramis had used the same turn of phrase. 

“The sooner we get there, the faster we can take lodging in Le Mans. I had even considered sending you both ahead while I collect from the baron.”

“That might have calmed him down.” Porthos noted.

“Had he held his temper I might have been able to before he stormed away.”

“Well if you hadn’t ‘maladroitly’ handled the communication.” Porthos swept up his cards.

“Amusing, very much so, my friend.” Athos poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass and luckily caught André’s eye to request another.

Porthos caught up the empty platter and waved it signaling a replenishment there as well. Once both items were delivered and the empties exchanged, Porthos rose, offering the platter back down. “Want anything else? I’m heading up.”

Athos shook his head.

“Right.” Porthos pulled it back towards himself. “There’s only two beds, so if he’s not of a mind to share you’d best pair with me when you come up.”

Athos nodded and chose to fortify with more wine, though Porthos suspected that would be his intent tonight regardless. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

“After breakfast.” Porthos insisted. “And we’ll discuss our intended travel, yeah?”

One of Athos’ shoulders rose and fell but before he could reply Porthos ordered, “And you’ll both keep a civil tongue.”

Athos mouth quirked but he tilted his head in concession.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Porthos was halfway up the stairs before he considered obtaining wine to go with his additional tray of food. The two of them were driving him to distraction. Then again, if Aramis was in a foul mood, he could use the wine as an excuse to exit the room. Nodding to himself Porthos continued upstairs and shouldered open the door.

He found Aramis stripped to his smalls and staring balefully at the sky through the open shutters. The bedclothes were kicked to lump beside him. 

“Contemplating God or murder?”

Aramis yielded with a snort recognizing the voice and raised his head slightly. “Athos is not retiring as well?”

“He’s got himself another bottle for company.”

“Of course he does,” Aramis accused and settled his head back on his arms.

Porthos sat on the end of the bed, budging the lumped linens over. “Don’t suppose you’ll consider letting that go?”

“Maladroit!” Aramis sat up abruptly. “First he accuses us of being incommunicative and now he says we’re incompetent!”

“Easy!” Porthos cautioned. “No sense getting yourself riled up, you’ll waste the cool air.”

“What cool air?” Aramis flopped back and flung his arm towards the open frame. “There’s no breeze to be had.” 

“All the more reason to calm down.” Porthos advised as he began picking from the tray he’d brought.

Aramis shifted restlessly in the heat. Porthos knew he’d be taking the other bed, Aramis would be disinclined to company despite having taken the bed closer to the open window frame. It didn’t matter to him as there was no way he trusted his two brothers to share and knowing Athos would slide in with him to avoid a disturbance later.

“What do you suppose is at the root of this?”

“Hmm?” He enquired around a fig.

“All of this,” Aramis’ hand fluttered between them. “What is driving at him?”

“The mission?”

“Porthos, please.”

“For the love of…would you just leave it alone?”

“And suffer further insult?”

“He was sorry about that.”

“Oh, yes, clearly. His remorse was palpable and his words of repentance a balm to my wounded spirit.”

“All right, all right.” Porthos held his hands up. “You’ve made your point. It’s not getting us anywhere, though, is it?”

“The quicker this assignment is over the better.” Aramis returned his gaze to the darkening sky.

“Think we all agree on that.” Porthos muttered. “He’s offered to let us go on to Le Mans, see what we can find.”

“Offered, has he?” Aramis turned with a raised brow.

“Sorry, that’s me saying that. He said he thought about it.” Porthos picked at the meats and cheeses, hunting for the nuts lost between them. “Figured he might collect the taxes while we investigate the wine commerce.”

“Did he?” Aramis sat up, resting his forearms along his knees. “And will we accompany him to the baron’s estate, or will he go alone?”

“Dunno, we didn’t get that far.” Porthos set the tray between them. “First, I was coming up here to try to calm you down and secondly, I want us all to discuss how to proceed: together.”

“Because that’s gone so well.” Aramis mumbled.

“Well it will tomorrow.” Porthos insisted. “‘Sides, you owe me that.”

Aramis looked at him blankly, clearly trying to remember what wager they might have made.

“Yeah. Yer linens didn’t clean themselves.” Porthos pointed to where their mutual laundered clothes were drying.

“Ah.” Aramis had the decency to keep his smile small. “I wondered if I owed payment to the laundress on the premises.”

“You owe payment all right – to the launderer. Me.” Porthos declared.

“I’ll take the next turn at washing?” Aramis splayed his arms.

Porthos nodded. “Yeah, you will. Plus, you’ll let me handle Athos tomorrow morning. No goading him at breakfast,” Porthos cut him off. “And I won’t let him dig at you either. All right?”

“Now, Porthos.” Aramis began.

“No.”

“Fine then, you handle him.” Aramis waved him off.

“I will.”

“I worry for him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll get to the bottom of this eventually.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get further along? I blame two snow storms. And that I have to drag Athos and Aramis around by their 'antlers'. Happy reading! They all love each other, I promise. ⚜⚜⚜⚜


	11. Chapter 11

“You are the one that is insufferable.” Athos accused with as much affection as one could express through sarcasm. “You are dragging this out.”

“I am not. D’Artagnan wasn’t there, I’m being thorough.” Porthos assured before protesting, “Hey! No leaving the bed, doctor’s orders.”

“Do you need the chamber pot?” D’Artagnan offered.

Athos groaned out a burst of air and flung an arm over his face. “No. I merely wanted my breeches; this is ridiculous.”

“Oh.” D’Artagnan leaned off the end of the bed and rummaged in the large trunk there. “Do you want another blanket? It’d probably be more comfortable.”

“Fine.”

Athos had chosen to replace his shirt, but left it rucked up to reveal the wound. D’Artagnan placed the blanket over his lower half. “Are you still cold?”

“I am bare chested and it’s freezing in this cavern of a room.”

“I could give you a blanket for your shoulders.”

“I will not wear a shawl like an old woman.”

D’Artagnan glanced at Porthos for ideas since Athos was ensconced from view beneath his own arm. He headed to answer the knock on the door before the other man could suggest something. “Thank Dr. Corbeau,” D’Artagnan told the soldier, “and ask after Captain Treville? Let us know if he’ll be heading up?”

Closing the door again, d’Artagnan was back to Athos’ side of the bed in a few strides. “All right, let’s have the first application.”

Athos lowered his arm to peer in d’Artagnan’s direction but his eyes were still having difficulty tracking. “I notice you’re less cautious than you were before about applying a balsam.”

“You’re not at risk of…” d’Artagnan trailed off, for once catching his brash response beforehand. Even if Athos’ wound was slightly infected, he was hardly in as great of danger as Aramis of his injuries being fatal. Then again, he was aware the smallest of cuts could kill a man under the right conditions. “If Dr. Corbeau makes up my mother’s salve I’m going to ask if we might use it here.”

“It’s been effective before,” Porthos peered down where d’Artagnan was working in the current ointment that had been sent to them. “And Aramis has been after you for that recipe for ages.”

“I’ve always made it for him.” D’Artagnan defended himself with a smile. “I’ll make sure he gets the formula this time.” 

Athos was trying to hold himself still, but he couldn’t help his muscles jumping at the sliding of d’Artagnan’s fingertips.

“Does it feel tender?” Porthos asked.

Athos glared over at him and said nothing.

“If it becomes infected, Corbeau may have to drain it.” Porthos warned.

“Let us not speak of reopening wounds.” Athos shuddered.

“The skin feels a little warm.” D’Artagnan observed.

“And yet I am quite chilled.”

“All the more reason you need to stay in bed, under blankets.” Porthos suggested.

Athos blew out another frustrated sigh. “Someone needs to see what’s been found out from our prisoner.”

“Treville will visit us, and if needs be then I can go retrieve the information.” D’Artagnan argued. To redirect, he offered, “I could lay a blanket from your shoulder down your right side to help retain some heat if you’re very cold.”

“Why don’t you try and remember how warm it was that summer?” Porthos teased. “Even overnight. I nearly kicked you out when you climbed into bed.”

“I hardly slept that night either, you’re like a corporeal firepit.”

“Slide over then, Aramis won’t mind.” Porthos offered, extending his arm.

D’Artagnan laughed softly as he finished applying the thick layer of salve.

“I’m not putting my wound within range of either of you,” Athos declared. “I’d rather not risk it if he should move unexpectedly in his sleep.”

“While we’re on the subject of you all moving…?” D’Artagnan prompted.

“Yes, do continue, Porthos.” Athos ordered leisurely, adjusting his shirt down as far as he dared without touching the jagged cut. “I would prefer Dr. Corbeau not be subjected to this outlandishness.”

“Maybe he’d want to hear it,” Porthos argued, “I could provide some insight into his patients.”

“I believe he’s rather unfortunately more than aware of Aramis.” Athos said as he looked down his abdomen and considered tugging the blankets a bit higher. When he tensed his muscles to raise his chest the pain echoed throughout his abdomen. “Although perhaps not his homicidal tendencies.”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“To try and kill me?”

“Not again.” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes and covered the pot containing their newest salve. “Why not skip arguing about it and finish the story?”

“Indeed.” Athos agreed.

“Even with your,” D’Artagnan hesitated, “disagreements, I am still having difficulty believing you tried to hurt each other. Was it a ploy?”

“It was no ruse, I assure you.” Athos gave in and asked d’Artagnan to adjust the blankets. “Would you raise those?”

D’Artagnan nodded and repositioned them as far up as he could without dragging them through the freshly applied ointment. He did tug the edge of the blanket inward and up higher along Athos' uninjured side.

“Or explain how Aramis had always been rather hostile, yes?”

“He’s passionate.” Porthos nodded. “Bit more about some things than others.”

“Passionate” Athos scoffed. “You might then tell d’Artagnan about when I joined the regiment.”

“Athos.” D’Artagnan interjected. He was decidedly curious but wouldn’t let them be sidetracked. “If you start another story, we’ll never finish this one!”

“Are we telling stories?” The voice whispered out just as Aramis rubbed his forehead on his makeshift pillow. Porthos kept himself still to allow Aramis time to remember that his pillow was alive.

“Recalling for d’Artagnan when you nearly drowned.” As if that may have happened more than once, he added, “Athos and you had that confrontation.”

“When you tried to kill me in the woods.” Athos provided more context.

“I didn’t mean…for that to…happen,” Aramis eyed him blearily. His eyes were still unable to fully open from the swelling around them. “You know that.”

Athos seemed unable to argue with him given how utterly injured Aramis was. “Of course.”

D’Artagnan almost pointed out that Athos had been ardently protesting Aramis’ innocence only moments before. He rethought it almost as soon as the thought occurred to him.

“Athos thought we should explain to d’Artagnan how you weren’t that fond of him when he became a musketeer.” Porthos informed him.

“Hardly accurate.” Aramis countered.

“Aramis.” Athos’ groan interrupted them. He would not allow their newly awakened companion to redirect the story. Porthos was not going to recount any of this misguided tale for the physician.

“Fine, fine.” Aramis complained. “S’d’Artagnan’s loss…afterall…”

“He’ll be fine. ‘Sides, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to set him to your interpretation of the correct versions, but he’ll make do with our accounts ‘til then.” Porthos told him.

Curling his hand over Aramis’ shoulder he continued. “When Athos showed up it wasn’t enough for Aramis to be the finest shot in all the regiment he had to – ”

“France.”

“Hey, who’s telling this story?” Porthos squeezed his arms in slightly around his charge.

“You are…my friend.” Aramis patted at the chest doubling as his pillow. “Merely assuring…accuracy.”

“Right, so despite him already being the best shot in Paris – ”

“That’s not…France, Porthos.” Aramis placed his palm to Porthos’ forearm where it braced on the bed. He emphasized again. “France.”

“Someone’s a bit confident, eh?”

“Treville said so.” Aramis raised his head slightly as though it would aid in confirmation.

Porthos blew out against the hairs now tickling under his nose. “Oh, did he now?”

“Just yesterday…in fact, or…well…recently.”

“Mmmhmm, sure you weren’t just dreaming that one?”

“Porthos.” Athos’ exasperation was less from Porthos’ storytelling and more a warning to just leave Aramis be or they’d never hear the end of the original tale.

“I’m only…”

“Keeping me accurate, yeah, we know. Right then. It wasn’t enough for Aramis to be the finest marksman in all of France.” He emphasized the word and cocked his eyebrow on the pause and waited for any protestation. Receiving no further commentary, he continued, “He got his back up about the new recruit.”

“Maybe that’s why he attempted to murder me.” Athos teased, eyeing Aramis who had closed his own. “He only waited all that time to lull me into his confidence, or him into mine, before he struck.”

Aramis gave no protest and that confirmed for the three of them that he’d fallen back to sleep.

“Meant to ask how he was.”

“Likely in as much pain as he was earlier, Porthos.” Athos softened his words by saying, “I think the doctor would rather he rest and wake when it suits him rather than us asking Aramis after his health. Aramis can inform Corbeau himself when he returns.”

“Yeah.” Porthos looked down at the dark head that had gone still again.

“We can always try to rouse him again later with a debate on his marksmanship.” Athos smirked. “Or murder.”

“Debating or committing?” Porthos asked with a hint of a threat.

“You were leaving the city, and there’s no woods there, unless someone attempted it on the road out of Chartres?”

“Nope. Not yet.” Porthos said. “We actually had a pleasant breakfast since I negotiated, well, everything.”


End file.
